OVER Winchester town long lines of rain fell
steadily one July day more than three hundred
years ago.
The afternoon was wearing away, when Rosa-
mund, the fourteen-year-old daughter of Master
Richard Walton, the learned tutor, sat at a win-
dow in her father's house and watched the
gray clouds blowing across the sky, above the
cathedral spires, above the great Episcopal
palace where the Queen's Majesty was now
lodged, and above the wet roofs of all the
houses in town.
Drip, drip, the rain-drops fell past the win-
dow, and scratch, scratch, with very much less
regularity, went the goose-quill of Rosamund's
brother Ned, who, with a big sheet of paper
before him, sat at a desk in the room.
"A plague upon it! he suddenly exclaimed,
looking up from his work. "The plain truth
is, Rose, that I was never meant for a poet."

"But you will try," said Rosamund encour-
agingly. "Our father would be so much dis-
appointed if you had not the honor, along with
the other boys, of reciting before the Queen
and the Spanish Prince. And, Ned, you know,
you can make very good verses sometimes."
"Well, so I can," said Ned, flattered by this
praise. But rhymes, and specially Latin ones,
are wicked things, say I. Now that I want
them so much, the obstinate things refuse to
come into my head. I have sat here nigh the
whole day, with ink-horn and quill in most
clerkly manner, and this is all I have done."
He read aloud his Latin verses, sure of being
understood, for Master Walton had taught
Latin to his daughter as well as to his son,
merely for the pleasure of instructing so apt a
pupil.
"Why, that is good," said Rosamund, who
had listened attentively; "but-"

Copyright, 1897, by THE CENTURY CO. All rights reserved.
883

ST.

No. ii.

A GIRL OF WINCHESTER.

Ay, but! I would I had your wits, Rose,
or that you, and not I, had the writing of this;
for I think you must be almost as clever as
they say the Princess Elizabeth is. But even
the elements make against
me. A marriage-poem s

-

I '

.b" .- =:
7 -
,- ,- ''

ROSAMUND'S BROTHER NED SAT AT A DESK IN
THE ROOM."

should be a joyous composition -and how can
one write joyously on a day like this ? "
There, you had best stop now," said Rosa-
mund, laughing. "You are tired; you will be
getting cross next, and woe betide your 'joyous
composition' then! Why, here come Bess and
Thomas Parker!" she exclaimed, as she turned
to the window once more; and I do believe
they are coming in here."
Surely enough, a boy and girl, wrapped in
long cloaks, which the wind blew about them,
came running to the street-door below. A mo-
ment later there was an eager rush up the stairs,
and a pair of excited young people ran into
the room.
Oh, Rose, get on your cloak and come,
quick! you and Ned, too. They are almost

at the gates, and you can see everything from
our house "
"Why, I thought the Queen had sent word
they would not come till to-morrow, because of
the weather,". said Ned, jumping up from the
table.
SSo she did," answered Bess. I saw the
-_ messenger when he rode away. But
the Spanish Prince hath pressed on, and
the mayor and aldermen are even now
on their way to meet him at the gates;
so you must be quick. And my father
bade me say he will be most happy if
S Master Walton will come, too."
Some five 'minutes thereafter, our
four young people, with Master
S Walton, were outside, and hur-
S trying through the wet grayness
of the afternoon.
) j The crowds in the streets in-
creased ever as they went on,
for nothing could dampen the cu-
riosity of the people to see the Spaniards
and the Prince who was to be the Queen's
husband. A short walk brought them to Mas-
ter Parker's house, where the Waltons were
hospitably welcomed and invited to posts of
observation from which they might hope to get
a good view of Prince Philip as he should pass
that way.
In the presence of their elders the boys and
girls were very quiet and respectful, as they
were expected to be. They listened to the
talk in the room, which was all about the
Queen's marriage.
I had heard Prince Philip was not over-
well liked in Flanders," said Master Parker;
"but my brother, who rode from Southampton
but yesterday, saith he hath the character there
of a most gracious and affable prince, and that
in many of his customs he is like an Englishman."
I hear he is very pious and devout," said
Master Walton, who had always been a good
Catholic himself.
"Ay, since this Spanish marriage is to be,
we may as well make the best of it," said Mas-
ter Parker's brother, entering the room at that
moment. "I am right glad that the Prince
se6meth so well disposed toward us. He show-
eth more favor to Englishmen than is altogether

884

A GIRL OF WINCHESTER.

pleasing to his Spanish followers." And he
laughed heartily.
Presently there was no more talking, for the
shouting in the street announced that Prince
Philip was at hand, and every one thought only
of seeing as much of the pageant as he could.
In bright sunshine it would have been a fine
sight for there were nobles of England, Spain,
and the Netherlands, in their rich costumes;
archers, who, in compliment to Philip, wore the
red and yellow liv-
ery of Aragon; the
mayor and aldermen
of the city, in their
scarlet robes; not
to mention the great
numbers of people
who had joined the
Prince's retinue along ,
the road. But soak-
ing wet, spattered with L
mud, and fatigued
with the journey, the
notables all looked
tolerably forlorn, and of
the Prince himself all that c.,ull
be seen was his broad hat and red
felt cloak, though it was evident
that he was doing his best to
respond affably to the cheering
which greeted him.
Nevertheless, Ned and Rosa-
mund would not have missed it
for anything; and as they went
home, they planned with their fa-
ther to go out the next day to
watch the procession through the
streets when Prince Philip should
pay his first public visit to the
Queen.
But alas! the next morning
Rosamund woke with a sore throat;
and old Mistress Walton, her grand-
mother, who had taken charge of
her since she was a very little girl, said she
must lie abed all day and be properly cared for.
It was almost as much of a disappointment
to Ned as it was to Rosamund; but both knew
there was no help for it, and Ned went off with-
out her, telling her she must -be sure to get well

to-day, so she could go to see the royal mar-
riage on the morrow.
There came to Rosamund, lying alone in her
little room, the far-off cheering of the people
and the joyful music that was played before
Prince Philip -on his way to the palace.
The music made Rosamund think of the
Latin marriage-poem which Ned, like the other
bright lads of Winchester School, had been bid-
den to write. She hoped so very much that it
would be found good enough to recite
before the Queen.
Then suddenly it came into her mind
S. to make a poem herself, it was so easy.

'-S'

p. '
PRINCE PHILIP ON HIS WAY TO THE PALACE.

The verses seemed to come to her of their own
accord, and the stately, sonorous Latin words
seemed to take on a new grace and freshness,
as she put them together in courtly sentences,
to welcome the Prince to England, and to ex-
press, as simply and naturally as she could,'the

885

Y

A GIRL OF WINCHESTER.

good wishes she really felt for the Queen. She
repeated the stanzas aloud, and was fairly
well satisfied with them.
At all events, they had served to pass away
a lonely hour or two. Presently Ned and her
father returned with their account of the pro-
cession, and then Bess Parker paid Rosamund
a visit; and so the day slipped by.
That night Ned came into her room with
some sheets of paper in his hand.
"Would you like to hear my completed
verses?" he asked. "To-day when I came
home I thought how the poem should go,
and now I have read it to father, and he
declares that I need not be ashamed of it."
Of course Rosamund would like to hear them;
so Ned proceeded to read what was really a
very creditable bit of verse for a lad of his age,
while to the admiring little sister the poem
seemed even more than that.
"I am sure the Queen will think it is the
most beautiful of all! she declared.
Did I not say it was the weather that was
the matter yesterday?" demanded Ned, in
triumph.
"So you did; and Ned, what do you
think? I have composed a marriage poem,
an epithalamium to give it the grand Latin
name--too, but it is not so good as yours.
I did it to amuse myself to-day while you
were gone."
"Did you? Well, you must say it to me.
That is fair, for I have read you mine."
Rosamund repeated it.
For a few moments after she ended, Ned
was silent. Boy as he was, he recognized the
ring of true poetry in her few simple verses,
and though he had always considered his
sister very clever, yet he was astonished by her
poetical skill.
Why, Rosamund," he said presently, that
is ever so much better than mine. I wish you
were to recite it to their Majesties."
No, indeed; it is not better than yours,"
said Rosamund; but she blushed a rosy red at
Ned's praise.
Yes, but it is. Mine shows that it has been
made-tup-well made enough, it may be, but
still made-up; while yours sounds as if it had
come of itself; and I am sure that it is real

poetry. Thou must say it to father, Rose; he
will be so pleased."
Indeed, Master Walton did feel prouder than
usual (if that were possible) of his clever little
daughter, as she walked between him and her
grandmother to Winchester Cathedral on the
morrow. For Rosamund had obeyed Ned's
behest, and got well; and she was one of the
great concourse of people who looked on for
nearly four hours while Bishop Gardiner and
his assistant prelates made Philip of Spain and
Mary of England man and wife.
Her father pointed out to her the principal
persons in the royal suite, and long, long after-
ward, when Rosamund described the scene
to her grandchildren, she told them how she
had seen the stern Duke of Alva, and the
brave Flemish Count Egmont, the victor of
Gravelines, who stood near the duke, handsome
and frank of bearing, and dreaming not at all
of the fatal influence which his neighbor would
one day exercise over his fate.
But naturally Rosamund, like every one else,
looked most at the royal bride and bridegroom.
They sat under a canopy with an altar between
them, and both were resplendent in white satin
richly ornamented with jewels; but Mary's black-
velvet mantle, and the little red slippers which
peeped out from under the skirt of her robe,
would probably be considered very strange in
a bridal costume nowadays.
There was some embarrassment when it was
time to give the bride away, for, strangely
enough, no one had thought who should do it;
but at last it was settled by the Marquis of
Winchester and the Earls of Derby and Pem-
broke, who stepped forward and gave her away,
in the name of the English nation; whereat
there was much cheering by the people, and
the ceremony went on.
At last it was all over, and then Ned, who
had sat near his sister in the cathedral, went
off at once to the Episcopal palace to wait
there, with the other boys who had composed
marriage-poems, till the Queen could hear them
recite.
That was not till after dinner; and so they
waited during the banquet among the crowds
of servants and musicians in the lower part of
the hall. But at last the summons came; they

886

ft4,c ?~E~

"ROSAMUND STOOD UP, AND RECITED HER SIMPLE VERSES, NOT KNOWING WHAT A PRETTY PICTURE SHE MADE."
(SEE PAGE 888.)

A GIRL OF WINCHESTER.

were conducted to the dais where Mary and
Philip had dined, with only each other and
Bishop Gardiner for company. When they
found themselves in the presence of royalty,
every boy felt his heart beat faster, and had
a sudden fear lest now, at the critical mo-
ment, his tongue should cleave to the roof
of his mouth, and the laboriously composed
Latin verses go unrecited, after all.
However, they all managed to get through
fairly well; and Mary was too radiantly happy
to be very critical. Philip, too, who wished to
find favor with his wife's subjects, was pleased
to express his approval; and so all the boys
were liberally rewarded for their efforts, and
doubtless went away feeling themselves to be
geniuses of the first water.
All but Ned. He recited last of all, and
somehow, when he had finished, the Queen
spoke so kindly and encouragingly that, almost
without his knowing what he said, the words
slipped out:
"Oh, Madam, if you could but hear my
sister's poem!"
The next instant he was frightened at his
boldness; but the Queen was smiling, and evi-
dently not at all displeased.
"Ah! she said, "so you have a sister, and
she also hath composed some verses in honor
of our marriage ? I should like greatly to hear
them."
"They are beautiful!" said Ned with en-
thusiasm.. "They are much better than any
of ours."
Mary turned to Philip, and with a smile
said something in the Castilian tongue. "We
must really hear that," she said, turning to Ned
.once more. Suppose you fetch hither that
clever sister. Tell her we would fain hear her
epithalamium too."

Rosamund could scarcely believe it, when
Ned came rushing in and told her that she, too,
must go and: recite before the Queen. The
quick walk through the streets with her father
and Ned seemed like a dream to her. So, too,
did the arrival at the Bishop's palace, and the
great hall where the long tables were spread,
and where the English and Spanish courts
were, for the present, making the best of each

other, though regarding with ill-concealed dis-
taste each other's foreign looks and ways.
Presently, Rosamund had reached the dais,
and had kissed the hand of her sovereign, and
of the King of Naples: for such had Prince
Philip been created by his father, according to
a paper read aloud that morning in the cathe-
dral.
"Thy name, my little maiden? the Queen's
deep tones were saying.
"Rosamund Walton, your Majesty," an-
swered Rosamund, scarcely recognizing the
sound of her own voice.
"Thy brother saith thou hast composed cer-
tain lines in honor of our marriage, Rosa-
mund; and the King and I would gladly hear
them. Canst thou say them to us?"
Rosamund looked up, glanced from Mary's
radiant face with its dark, shining eyes, to
Philip's, cold and mysterious, and wearing a
forced smile; and, somehow, she felt very sorry
for the Queen. This feeling made her forget
her embarrassment, and added a thrill to her
voice; and so she stood up straight and recited
her simple verses, not knowing what a pretty
picture she made, nor that all eyes in the hall
were fixed on her.
And when she finished speaking, there was
first a little pause, such as Ned had made when
she had recited it to him; and then the Queen
bent forward to say, cordially, Thank you, my
dear" ; and a buzz of Viraiseias heard to pass
around.
Philip spoke in Spanish, and Mary turned to
Rosamund again.
"The King is very much pleased with thy
verses," she said, as if there were no higher
praise in all the world than that. He says
the English maids are as clever as they are fair;
and he gives thee this jewel to thank thee for
thy fine poesy. And this," she added, tak-
ing a very beautiful and valuable bracelet from
her own arm, "I hope thou wilt wear some-
times to keep thee in mind of how much
Queen Mary was delighted by thy poem upon
her wedding-day."
She spoke also some kind and encouraging
words to Master Walton, and then the audience
was over.
In the pages of the historians or of some

888

[SEPT.

A GIRL OF WINCHESTER.

of them-it is written how the boys of Win-
chester were allowed to come in and recite their
Latin verses before the Queen and Philip; but
of the one girl there is no mention made. Rosa-
mund, however, had no thought of the histo-
rians when she composed her verses, so it would
have grieved her little to know she was to be

ignored by them. Philip's jewel was afterward
sold for a sum which was a fair dowry for her
when she married, but the bracelet Rosamund
kept all her life; and upon the Queen for
whom so many had cruel words in the days
that came after, she never pronounced a harsher
judgment than, Poor lady! "

FLOATING FIRE-ENGINES.

BY C. T. HILL.

WITH the growth of a large city, thle protec-
tion of the water-front from the ravages of fire
becomes an important study, almost as impor-
tant as the study of fire protection for the city
itself. Nearly every large city in the United
States owes its growth to its nearness to some
body of water, either lake, river, or sea, which
offers exceptional advantages for the trans-
portation of immense quantities of merchan-
dise, and also provides harborage for all manner
of craft engaged in this work.
This merchandise has to be stored some-
where during the process of loading and un-
loading these vessels, and the big warehouses
and wharf-buildings along the water-front serve
this purpose; but very often the most valuable
cargoes are stored for a time in the flimsiest
kind of buildings, needing but a spark to start
a destructive conflagration.
As a city increases in size its importance as a
freight-center grows in proportion; and the value
of freight and merchandise stored along shore,
during transit, in a big city like New York, can
only be imagined. No reasonable valuation
can be given, for we should have to dive too
deeply into the amounts of imports and exports
to get anywhere near the truth; but it is safe to
say that one hundred millions would scarcely
cover the property exposed to the danger of
fire, in a single day, among the piers and wharf-
houses of New York City.
Nor is this danger confined to piers and
wharf-buildings alone, but vessels in the act of

loading and unloading valuable cargoes, the
big bonded warehouses along the river-front,
the docks for great ocean-steamers, and the
freight stations of many big railroads are also
exposed to this risk, and need to be well pro-
tected, for a serious fire among them would
destroy more valuable property than perhaps a
fire of the same extent in the very heart of the
city.
Fires along shore are difficult ones to handle.
There is always more or less wind near the wa-
ter; if a gale is blowing it seems to have twice
as much force on the water-front, and a fire
once started here spreads very rapidly. Then
fires on the piers, or in the wharf buildings, are
usually very hard to fight;--although there is
plenty of water all around, it is difficult to ap-
ply it to good effect. The land forces can only
fight such a fire from one position the street
side; and if the wind is blowing inland it drives
the smoke and fire directly at them, and makes
it nearly impossible to hold this position. It
is here that the floating fire-engine or fire-boat
can do its valuable work; and New York pos-
sesses a fleet of such vessels-three boats that
are fully able to cope with a fire of almost any
size, whether it be among the shipping, along-
shore, or anywhere in the harbor.
Foremost among these vessels stands the fire-
boat New Yorker (officially known as Engine
Co. No. 57), as she is without doubt the most
powerful fire-boat afloat. The New Yorker's
berth is at the Battery, where she lies beside a

889

FLOATING FIRE-ENGINES.

tasteful building erected by the Fire Depart-
ment as a housing for her crew or company.
This building is fitted up with all the require-
ments of an engine-house-bunk-room upstairs,
sliding-poles to make a quick descent to the
ground floor, and a complete set of telegraph
instruments, to inform the company of all alarms
throughout the city. She lies with steam up, at
all times ready to respond in an instant to any
alarm, whether it be by telegraph or a cry for
assistance from a burning boat in mid-river.
She will dash up the river to attack a burning
pier or warehouse, or down the bay to meet an
incoming steamship with its cargo afire, with
the same activity. Her powerful pumps make
her almost invincible in any kind of marine fire,
and she is also a valuable assistant to the land-
forces.
As she lies at her berth by the Battery she at-
tracts a great deal of attention from all new
arrivals in the harbor, and on account of her
formidable appearance she is usually put down
as some new-fangled torpedo-throwing addition
to our navy, for with the rows of brass-headed
hose-connections along the side of the deck-
house, and the vicious-looking stand-pipes, or
"monitor-nozzles" as they are called, mounted
fore and aft, she certainly has a defiant and
business-like appearance.
In build she looks like a rather handsome
tug. She is 125 feet long, 26 feet wide, and
draws about 13 feet of water. She is built of
steel and iron throughout, making her thor-
oughly fire-proof, even the top of the wheel-
house and cabin being made of a kind of
cement as hard as stone. There is little wood-
work about her to ignite, and she is thus en-
abled to approach very close to a fire and
deliver her powerful streams at short range.
She has two very large boilers and four sets
(eight in all) of vertical, double-acting steam-
pumps, and one additional small direct-acting
pump.
These pumps have a throwing capacity of
fully io,ooo gallons of water every minute, and
under the best conditions they have been
known to reach 12,000 gallons a minute,-
over 6000 gallons more than any other fire-boat
afloat. The water is drawn in through the sides
of the boat, below the water-line, into what is

known as the "suction-bay," making an inner
reservoir from which the pumps are fed.
There are about io,ooo little holes, 38-inch
in diameter, bored in the sides of the boat just
outside these suction-bays, and through these
holes the water is drawn in, and filtered so that
no foreign substance may get into the pumps.
From the pumps it is forced into an air-cham-
ber, thus equalizing the pressure all around, and
then into a veritable water-main 12 inches in
diameter, which runs all around the boat, be-
tween decks, and supplies the various out-
lets. There are forty-two of these outlets
(including the four stand-pipes or monitor-
nozzles), and they vary in size from 6 inches in
diameter down to 2y2 inches (the size of the
regulation fire-hose). Two of the monitor
nozzles are mounted aft, on top of the cabin, and
a big and a small one on top of the wheel-house.
The two stand-pipes aft have 20-inch nozzles,
the big one on the wheel-house, having a 3/-
inch opening. From the latter a solid 3'-inch
stream can be thrown a distance of 320 feet,
and if necessary this can be increased to a 5y-
inch opening, and a mighty stream of water,
having that width, can be sent thundering
out into space over 200 feet. If you could
hear this immense stream as its pours into the
bay, like a miniature cataract, you could better
appreciate the power of this remarkable boat.
No body of fire could very long withstand
a deluge like this, and it requires only a few
dashes of this massive stream to effectively
quench a fire in the rigging or in the upper
works of a ship. The small monitor nozzle,
mounted on the other side of the wheel-house,
has a i3-inch opening, and a powerful stream
can also be thrown from this, and, of course, to a
much greater distance, for, as the stream is
reduced in diameter, it can go a great deal
farther.
To the outlets along the side of the deck-
house and at the bow and stern are attached
short lengths of hose, to fight fire at close range.
The pumps of the New Yorker are so powerful,
and the pressure at these outlets is so great,
that it would be impossible for men to handle
these lines if there were not some sort of ma-
chinery to aid them, and therefore an appliance
known as a rail-pipe is brought into play.

890

[SEPT.

FLOATING FIRE-ENGINES.

This is something like a big rowlock, and is set
in the gunwale in the same manner that a row-
lock is set in the rail of a row-boat. It.is fast-
ened beneath the rail with a pin, and between
the forks is swung an iron connection, oar-
fashion, pivoted at the sides., The short length
of hose is attached to one end of this connec-
tion, and a nozzle to the other, and with this
device one man is able to control and direct
the heaviest stream with ease. The monitor
nozzles also can be managed by one man each.
The fire-proof construction of the New

two thicknesses of corrugated iron, with an air
space between, thus preventing the inner lining
from becoming heated. They are arched at the
top, and in shape are somewhat like the shields
used to protect the gunners while working at
the rapid-firing guns on our modern men-of-war.
There is an opening at the bottom of these
shields for the nozzles of the rail-pipes to pro-
ject through, and an oblong slot above for the
fireman to look through and direct the water.
With the aid of this protection for the men and
because of her own salamander-like construc-

_-. -7.-. -. -r- -,, ,"

I

.-A.
'" 2.,
ir ;~~~
I j- L l '.4' =

--C

o- ... .m .

THE 'NEW YORKER" AT FIRE-DRILL.

Yorker makes it possible to get very near a
fire and deliver the powerful side streams at
short range; and should the heat become so
intense that the men are not able to stand by
the "rail-pipes," protecting shields are brought
into use behind which they can direct the
streams with comfort. These shields slide along,
inside the rail, on a kind of railway, so they
can be placed at any part of the boat; and
there is one on each side. They are made of

tion, the New Yorker is able to sail up close to
a burning vessel or pier and deliver a broad-
side of powerful streams where the ordinary
wooden fire-tug could not come within fighting
distance; and her ability to do this, and her
immense pumps, make her without a doubt the
most complete and effective marine fire-engine
ever built.
A curious application of one of our national
laws governing river boats is found in the New

891

892 .FLOATING FIRE-ENGINES. [SEPT.

Yorker. Although she is thoroughly fire-proof sides of the deck-house, and by the aid of re-
in construction, and has ample appliances for during connections can be reduced in size, as
throwing water in every direction, yet she is the lines are stretched in to the fire, until they
compelled to carry a number of the regulation reach the regulation sizes--two and one half
or three inches at the nozzle end.
She can supply six of these pow-
erful streams effectively at a dis-
tance of one third of a mile from
her location; and at big fires she
becomes a valuable aid to the
land force.
The New Yorker made her ear-
liest appearance as a fire fighter
at the burning of the Sound
steamer "City of Richmond"
at her pier, foot of Peck Slip,
on March 7, I89I.
She was called from her berth
at the Battery and, sailing up
the East River, "opened fire"
on the burning boat with a moni-
tor nozzle while still in mid-
-v stream. The stream struck the
boat with terrific force, knocking
the woodwork in every direc-
tion and breaking off strong up-
rights and supports as if they
had been pipestems. There were
several land companies working
on the boat at the time, both
engine and hook and ladder, and
they dropped their hose and tools
and fled in dismay at the be-
ginning of this liquid bombard-
ment, fearing for their lives.
The Chief in command at the
GIANT MONITOR NOZZLE ON THE FIRE-BOAT "NEW YORKER." fire rushed to the end of the
pier and signaled to the New
fire-buckets, just as if she were an ordinary river Yorker to shut off the stream that was creating
or coast-wise boat. To make an exception in such a panic. For a moment the order was
her case a new law would have to be passed to misunderstood, and, thinking the stream was
cover her case alone. wanted in another position, it was shifted. In
At fires in buildings along the river-front, or doing so it hit the end of the pier and almost
in streets near the river, the New Yorker can lifted the roof of the wharf building at the end.
lie at- a dock near by and supply twenty effec- Finally it was understood on board the New
tive streams; and, in fact, in capacity she is Yorker that the big stream was not wanted, six
equal to that number of land engines. If the smaller lines were substituted by her crew, and
fire is some distance from the water-front, im- these greatly assisted the land forces in getting
mense lengths of hose, six inches in diameter, the fire under control.
can be attached to the outlets of that size in the There is no need for these floating fire-engines

FLOATING FIRE-ENGINES.

to carry "truck" companies along to open
up for them so they can get at the seat of the
fire, as with the land companies. One blow
from one of these powerful streams, or even
from one of the smaller streams, is sufficient to
make a hole in anything, even an ordinary
brick wall. When we know that a 3'-inch
stream can be thrown a distance of 320 feet, or
a 2- or 22-inch stream nearly 400 feet, we can
easily imagine what terrific force such a stream
must have at a distance of, say, 50 feet; and I
fear that the wall of bricks and cement has not
been put up that could long withstand an on-
slaught from a hydraulic battery like this.
Next to the New Yorker comes the fire-boat
"Zophar Mills," a graceful-looking boat that
lies at Pier 58, North River (near the West
Fourteenth street ferry). She is older than the
New Yorker in build by about eight years,
being put in service in 1882, while the latter
boat was not built until 1890. In appearance
she has the trim lines of a handsome river-boat,
and does not look unlike one of the graceful river-

tugs that we often see gliding up the Hudson
with a procession of small boats in tow. She is
painted white; and were it not for the formid-
able monitor nozzles mounted in the bow and
on top of the cabin and the wheel-house, we
should never suspect her to be capable of
the active work of a floating fire-engine.
She is 125 feet long, 25 feet wide, and draws
about 11 feet of water. Her pumps consist of
two duplex and one single pump, and they have
a capacity of 2,400 gallons of water every
minute, and under favorable circumstances have
reached over 3000 gallons per minute. She can
supply fourteen streams effectively, and from
the stand-pipes at the bow and on the cabin,
with a i34-inch nozzle, she can throw the
water 300 feet. The rail-pipes are used on the
Zophar Mills as on the New Yorker. She
also can supply powerful streams at land fires.
At an experiment which was tried several years
ago, in what is known as the dry-goods dis-
trict (one of the most valuable of the business
districts of New York City), when there was

FIRE-BOAT "ZOPHAR MILLS."

FLOATING FIRE-ENGINES.

danger of a water-famine, the Zophar Mills
pumped enough water into a portable water-
tank, situated a mile away from her location, to
supply four land engines. This proved that
with an aid like the Zophar Mills or the New
Yorker it would be possible to extinguish fires
in this district, even though the water in the
city's mains was too low to supply the engines.
The Zophar Mills has seen active service and
has been of great use in extinguishing several
large fires. At the burning of a big wall-paper
factory in West Forty-second street, a few years
ago, she lay at the end of a long pier at the
foot of that street and sent a powerful stream,
through 2100 feet of hose, to the fire. At a
serious factory fire, last summer, in Greenwich
street, I saw a stream from this boat at work,
and it was really fascinating to watch the
mighty power of it. It took six or eight men
to control the stream, and you could hear it
thundering and crashing in the building, as it
knocked packing-cases about and crashed
through partitions and woodwork.
The crew of the boat are housed aboard in
a bunk-room in the forward part of the cabin.
There is a building on the dock beside which
she lies; but this contains only an office, with
the instruments for receiving the alarms; and
part of it is used as a store-room for supplies,
etc. This building is left in charge of the
"house-watchman" when the boat responds
to an alarm.
The Mills covers the North River in answer
to signals from Fifty-ninth street down to the
Battery. She goes above Fifty-ninth street
as far as the city limits on special calls. The
New Yorker comes up the North River as
far as Twenty-third street on the first alarm.
They both respond very often to the same box.
The New Yorker goes also up the East River
to Grand street on the first alarm, where the
third vessel of the fleet lies -the "iWm. F. IHave-
meyer." This latter vessel covers the whole of
the East River from Whitehall street to the
Harlem River, a distance of about nine miles.
The Havemeyer is the oldest of the three
vessels, having been built in 1875. She is 106
feet long, 22 feet wide, and draws ten feet of
water. In appearance she looks like the ordi-
nary harbor tug; and although she has seen

twenty-two years of service she is still in excel-
lent condition. She is fitted with four duplex fire-
pumps that have a capacity of about 2400 gal-
lons of water a minute. She can deliver this
water through stand-pipes and different sizes of
hose, with nozzles varying from i inch to 32
inches in diameter. She has been a valuable
and efficient aid to the land companies, and
has extinguished a large number of fires among
the shipping.
These boats serve a double purpose, for they
are not only effective water-throwing engines,
but powerful tugs as well. When a fire is dis-
covered on a ship lying among other vessels, a
line is fastened to her, and she is towed out
into mid-stream, where she cannot spread de-
struction about her. A few dashes from the
powerful monitor nozzle soon put out any fire
in the rigging and upper works. If the fire has
spread to the hold or has eaten in among the
cargo, she is towed down to the mud flats, near
Liberty Island, or to the sand bars south of
Governor's Island, and beached. Then the big
lengths of hose are passed aboard, large metal
connections are fastened to the ends, and these
are thrust into the hold, or into any compart-
ment where there is fire, and she is soon pumped
full of water and the fire drowned out. If a
boat like the New Yorker has charge of this
work it is quickly accomplished.
This saves the hull of the vessel and lessens
the damage considerably, for the owners can
have her pumped out afterward, and, the hull
remaining intact, there is nothing but the burned
interior to repair. If she were scuttled in mid-
stream, the hull would interfere with navigation,
and it would cost a large amount to raise the
vessel; so it can be seen that these boats can
render other services than that of extinguishing
fires.
In fires on vessels loaded with cotton (they
make ugly fires to handle), a lighter is usually
brought alongside, and after the worst of the
fire has been subdued the bales are hoisted out,
one by one, and extinguished as they are
brought out. By this means part of the cargo
is saved, for only the surfaces of the bales are
on fire, and they can be picked over and re-
baled, and sold again; while to fill the vessel
full of water and drown out the fire would de-

[SEPT.

FLOATING FIRE-ENGINES.

stroy the whole cargo; and a cotton fire might
burn for months if fought in any other way.
On these boats the men's life is about the same
as in the land companies. Two men are kept
on watch at all times-one a house-watch"
and the other a deck-watch." The house-
watchman keeps track of the alarms and special
calls, and the going and coming of members of
the company to and from meals, and has charge
of the house journal." The deck-watch sees
that other boats do not run into his vessel, and
also keeps a sharp lookout for fires along the

ered with a thick coating of ice, is risky business;
but, as one of the crew of the Zophar Mills re-
marked philosophically, "You have to take it
as it comes -the fat and the lean together."
Brooklyn has two very efficient fire-boats, the
" David A. Boody and the Seth Low." The
first has a capacity of 5500 gallons per min-
ute, and the second is capable of throwing
nearly 4000 gallons of water in the same time.
With the consolidation of the two cities under
the Greater New York charter, which takes effect
January i, 1898, all these vessels will practically

THE FIRE-BOAT, WM. F. HAVEMEYER," BEGINNING WORK ON A BURNING PIER.

river. In the summer, when there are few fires,
a position on the fire-boat is a pleasant berth,
for there is plenty of outdoor life and sunshine;
but in winter, when a keen nor'wester is blowing
and every bit of spray freezes hard wherever it
strikes, the land companies no doubt have the
advantage.
Fighting fire along the water-front in mid-
winter has all the dangers and the suffering of
fire-duty ashore; and climbing up the sides of
vessels and upon wharfs and piers, getting lines
into position, when every bit of surface is cov-

belong to the same Fire Department, so that
the greater city will have a fleet of six pow-
erful fire-boats (there is one now in course of
construction for the New York Department),
with a combined water-throwing capacity of
over 35,000 gallons of water per minute (esti-
mating about 8000 capacity for the new boat)
- a veritable deluge !
But when we stand on the Brooklyn Bridge
and can see the forest of vessels lying in Erie
Basin, and look up and down the East River at
the fringe of boats lying at both the Brooklyn

FLOATING FIRE-ENGINES.

THE "NEW YORKER" AND ZOPHAR MILLS" AT WORK UPON A BURNING SHIP.

and New York sides, with the thousands of
craft coming and going every moment through
this busy stream, we can easily imagine what
dreadful havoc a serious conflagration would
cause if it should once get any headway among
this mass of shipping.
There are about eighteen miles of water-front
on both sides of Manhattan Island, and about
the same distance on the Brooklyn side, count-

ing from Long Island City to Fort Hamilton -
a big surface exposed to the dangers of fire,
and a large territory to cover effectually; but
when he reflects upon the protection given by
the efficient fleet of floating fire-engines that
I have just described, I am sure the average
skipper need not be unduly anxious when
lying at anchor or tied to a pier in the har-
bor of Greater New York.

A WARNING.

By MARY A. WEBBER.

I KNOW a young girl who can speak
French, German, and Latin and Greek.
I see her each day,
And it grieves me to say
That her English is painfully weak!

MASTER SKYLARK.

BY JOHN BENNETT.

[Begun in the November number.]

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE BANDY-LEGGED MAN.

UNTIL night fell they sought the town over
for a trace of Cicely; but all to no avail. The
second day likewise.
The third day passed, and still there were no
tidings.. Master Shakspere's face grew very
grave, and Nick's heart sickened till he quite
forgot that he was going home.
But on the morning of the fourth day, which
chanced to be the first of May, as he was
standing in the door of a printer's stall in St.
Paul's Churchyard, watching the gaily-dressed
holiday crowds go- up and down, while Robin
Dexter's apprentices bound white-thorn boughs
about the brazen serpent overhead, he spied the
bandy-legged man among'the rout -that passed
the north gate by St. Martin's Le Grand.
He had a yellow ribbon in his ear, and wore
a bright plum-colored cloak at sight of which
Nick cried aloud; for it was the very cloak
which Master Gaston Carew wore when Nick
first met him in the Warwick road. The
rogue was making for the way which ran
from Cheapside to the river, and was walking
very fast.
"Master Shakspere! Master Shakspere! "
Nick called out. But Master Shakspere was
deep in the proofs of a newly printed play,
and did not hear.
The yellow ribbon fluttered in the sun was
gone behind the churchyard wall.
"Quick, Master Shakspere, quick I" Nick
cried; but the master-writer was frowning over
the inky page, for the light in the printer's shop
was dim, and the proof was very bad.
The ribbon was gone down the river-way -
and with it the hope of finding Cicely. Nick
shot one look into the stall. Master Shak-
VOL. XXIV.-113. 8

spere, deep in his proofs, was deaf to the world
outside. Nick ran to the gate at the top of his
speed. In the crowd afar off a yellow spot
went fluttering like a butterfly along a country
road. Without a single second thought he
followed it as fast as his legs could go.
Twice he lost it in the throng; but the yel-
low patch bobbed up again in the sunlight far
beyond, and led him on, and on, and on, a
breathless chase, down empty lanes and alley-
ways, through unfrequented courts, among the
warehouses and wharf-sheds along the river-
front, into the kennels of Billingsgate, where the
only sky was a ragged slit between the leaning
roofs. His heart sank low and lower as they
went, for only thieves and runagates, who dared
not face the day in honest streets, were gathered
in wards like these.
In a filthy purlieu under Fish Street Hill,
where mackerel-heads and herring strewed the
drains, and sour kits of whitebait stood fer-
menting in the sun, the bandy-legged man
turned suddenly into a dingy court, and when
Nick reached the corner of the entry-way, was
gone, as though the earth had swallowed him.
Nick stopped, dismayed, and looked about.
His forehead was wet and his breath was gone.
He had no idea where he was; but it was
a dismal hole. Six forbidding doorways led off
from the unkempt court, and a rotting stairway
sagged along the wall. A crop-eared dog, that
lay in the sun beside a broken cart, sprang up
with its hair all pointing to its head, and snarled
at him with a vicious grin. "Begone, thou
cur!" he cried, and let drive with a stone.
The dog ran under the cart and crouched there,
barking at him.
Through an open door beyond there came a
sound of voices as of people in some further
thoroughfare. Perchance the bandy-legged man
had passed that way. He ran across the court
and up the steps, but came back faster than he

MASTER SKYLARK.

went; for the passage-way there was blind and
black, a place unspeakable for dirt, and filled
with people past description. A woman peered
out after him with red eyes blinking in the sun.
" Odbobs !" she croaked; a pretty thing !
Come hither, knave; I want the buckle off thy
cloak."
Nick, shuddering, started for the street. But
just as he reached the entry-port a door in the
courtyard opened and the bandy-legged man
came out with a bag upon his back, leading
Cicely by the hand.
Seeing Nick, he gave a cry, believing him-
self pursued, and made for the open door again;
but almost instantly perceiving the boy to be
alone, slammed shut the door and followed him
instead, dragging Cicely over the stones, and
shouting hoarsely," Stop there! stop "
Nick's heart came up in his very throat. His
legs went water-weak. He ran for the open
thoroughfare without once looking back. Yet
while he ran he heard Cicely cry out suddenly,
in pain: Oh, Gregory, Gregory, thou art hurt-
ing me so!" and at the sound the voice of
Gaston Carew rang like a bugle in his ears:
"Thou 'It keep my Cicely from harm ? He
stopped as short as if he had butted his head
against a wall, whirled on his heel, stood fast,
though he was much afraid. And standing
there, his head thrown back and his fists tight
clenched, as though someone had struck him
in the face, he waited until they came to where
he was.
"Thou hulking, cowardly rogue I" said he
to the bandy-legged man.
But the bandy-legged man caught him fast
by the arm and hurried on into the street, scan-
ning it swiftly up and down. Two birds with
one stone, by hen !" he chuckled, when he saw
that the coast was clear. "They '11 fetch a
pretty penny by-and-by."
Poor Cicely smiled through her tears at Nick.
"I knew thou wouldst come for me soon," said
she. But where is my father ? "
"He 's dead as a herring," snarled Gregory.
"That 's a lie," said Nick stoutly. He is
na dead."
Don't call me a liar, knave. By hen! I '11
put a stopper on thy voice "
"'Thou wilt na put a stopper on a jug!"

cried Nick, his heart so hot for Cicely that he
quite forgot himself. I 'd sing so well with-
out a voice it would butter thy bread for
thee! Loose my arm, thou rogue."
Not for a thousand golden crowns! I 'm
no tom-noddy, to be gulled. And hark'e, be
less glib with that' rogue' of thine, or I '11 baste
thy back for thee."
"Oh, don't beat Nick! gasped Cicely.
"Do na fret for me," said Nick. "I be na
feared of the cowardly rogue."
Crack! the man struck him across the face.
Nick's eyes flashed hot as a fire-coal. He set
his teeth, but he did not flinch.
"Do na thou strike me again, thou rogue/"
said he.
As he spoke, on a sudden his heart leaped up,
and his fear was utterly gone. In its place
was a something fierce and strange, a bitter
gladness, a joy that stung and thrilled him like
great music in the night. A tingling ran from
head to foot; the little hairs of his flesh stood
up; he trampled the stones as he hurried on.
In his breast his heart was beating like a bell;
his breath came hotly, deep, and slow; the
whole world widened on his gaze. Oh, what a
thing is the heart of a boy! How quickly
great things are done therein! One instant,
put him to the touch the thing is done, and
he is never more the same. Like a keen, cold
wind that blows through a window in the night,
life's courage had breathed on Nick Attwood's
heart: the man that slept in the heart of the
boy awoke, and was aware. The old song
roared in Nick's ears:

Sir Francis Drake sailed round the world,
Round the world, round the world;
John Hawkins fought the "Victory,"
And we ha' beaten Spain!

Whither they were going he did not know.
Whither they were going he did not care. He
was English; this was England still! He set
his teeth and threw back his shoulders. I be
na feared of him," said he.
But my father will come for us soon, won't
he, Nick ?" faltered Cicely.
"Eigh just don't he wish that he might! "
laughed Goole.
"Oh, ay," said she, and nodded bravely

[SEPT.

MASTER SKYLARK.

to herself. "He may be very busy now, and
so he cannot come. But presently he will
come for me and fetch me home again." She
gave a joyous little skip. "To fetch me home
again ay, surely, my father will come for me
anon."
At that a lump came up in Nick Attwood's
throat.
But what hath he done to thee, Cicely, and
where is thy pretty gown ? he asked, as they
hurried on through the crooked way; for the
gown she wore was in rags.
Cicely choked down a sob. He hath kept
me locked up in a horrible place, where an old
witch came in the night and stole my clothes
away. And he says that if money doth not
come for me soon he will turn me out to
starve."
"To starve? Nay, Cicely, I will na leave
thee starve. I '11 go with thee wherever he
taketh thee. I '11 fend for thee with all my
might and main; and none shall harm thee if
I can help. So cheer up we will get away!
"Thou needst na gripe me so, thou rogue! I
am going wherever she goes."
"1 '11 see that ye do," growled the bandy-
legged man. But take the other hand off her,
thou jackanapes, and fetch a better pace than
this- I '11 not be followed again."
His tone was bold, but his eyes were not;
for they were faring through the slums toward
Whitechapel way, and the hungry crowd eyed
Nick's silk cloak greedily. One burly rascal,
with a scar across his face, turned back and
snatched at it. For his own safety's sake the
bandy-legged man struck up into a better
thoroughfare, where he skulked along like a
fox overtaken by dawn, fearing to meet some
dog he knew.
Oh, Gregory, go slow! pleaded Cicely, pant-
ing for breath, and stumbling over the cobble-
stones. Goole's only answer was a scowl. Nick
trotted on sturdily, holding her hand, and but-
ting his shoulder against the crowd, so that she
might not be jostled; for the press grew thick
and thicker as they went. All London was
a-Maying, and the foreigners from Soho, too.
Up in-the belfries, as they passed, the bells were
clanging, until the whole town rang like a
smithy on the eve of war; for madcap appren-

tices had the ropes and were ringing for ex-
ercise.
Thicker and thicker. grew the throng, as
though the sea were sweeping through the
town. Then, at the corer of Mincing Lane,
where the cloth-workers' shops were thick, all
at once there came up an uproarious din of
men's voices, singing together:

"Three merry boys, and three merry boys,
And three merry boys are we,
As ever did sing in a hempen string
Beneath the gallows-tree! "

And before the bandy-legged man could
chance upon a doorway in which to stand out
of the rush, they were pressed against the wall,
flat as cakes, by a crowd of bold apprentices in
holiday attire going out to a wager of archery,
to be shot in Finsbury Fields.
At first, all Nick could see was legs: red
legs, yellow legs, blue legs, green legs, long legs,
strong legs in truth, a very many of all sorts
of legs, all stepping out together like a hundred-
bladed shears; for these were the Saddlers of
Cheapside and the Cutters of Mincing Lane-
tall, ruddy-faced fellows, all armed with clubs,
which they twirled and tossed and thwacked
each other with in sport. Some wore straw
hats with steeple crowns, and some flat caps of
green and white, or red and orange-tawny.
Some had long yew bows and sheaves of ar-
rows decked with garlands; and they were all
exceedingly daubed in the face with dripping
cherry-juice and with cheese, which they
munched as they strode along.
What, there, Tom Webster, I say," cried
one, catching sight of Cicely's face; "here is a
Queen o' the May for thee !"
His broad-shouldered comrade stopped in
the way, and with him all the rest. My faith,
Jem Armstrong, 't is the truth for once in thy
life!" quoth he, and stared at Cicely. Her
cheeks were flushed, and her panting red lips
were fallen apart, so that her little white teeth
showed through. Her long, dark lashes cast
shadow-circles under her eyes; her curly hair
in elfin locks tossed all about her face, and
through it was tied a crimson ribbon, mocking
the quick color of the blood which came and
went beneath her delicate skin.

"'DO NA THOU STRIKE ME AGAIN, THOU ROGUE! '
catched a Queen! "Where is she, Tom ?"
" Up with her, mate, and let a fellow see! "
Hands off, there!" snarled the bandy-legged
man.
Up with her, Tom," cried out the strapping
fellow at his back. A Queen it is; and a right
good smacking toll all round I have not
bussed a maid this day! Up with her, Tom "

Stand back, ye rogues, and let us pass! "
But alas and alack for the bandy-legged
man! He.could not ruffle and swagger it off
as Gaston Carew had done of old--a London
apprentice was harder nuts than his cowardly
heart could crack.
"Stand back, ye
Srogues! he cried again.
"Rogues ? Rogues ?
Who calls us rogues?
Hi, Martin Allston, crack
me his crown! "
Good masters," fal-
tered Gregory, seeing
that bluster would not
serve, "I meant ye no
offense. I pr'ythee do
not keep a father and his
children from their dying
mother's bed! "
"Nay--is that so?"
asked Webster, sobering
instantly. Here lads,
give way --their mother
be a-dying."
The crowd fell back.
"Ah, sirs! whined
Goole, scarce hiding the
joy in his face, "she 'II
thank thee with her dying
breath. Get on, thou
knave!" he muttered
fiercely in Nick's ear.
But Nick stood fast
and caught Tom Web-
ster by the arm: "The
fellow lieth in his throat,"
said he. "My mother
is in Stratford town; and
Cicely's mother is dead."
"Thou whelp! cried
the bandy-legged man,
and aimed a sudden blow at Nick; "I 'I1
each thee to hold thy tongue."
Oh, no, ye won't," quoth Thomas Webster,
interposing his long oak staff and thrusting the
fellow away so hard that he thumped against
the wall. "There is no school on holidays!
Thou 'lt teach nobody here to hold his tongue
but thine own self--and start at that straight-

9oo

MASTER SKYLARK.

way. Dost take me ? say? Now, Jacky
Sprat, what 's all the coil about? Hath this
sweet fellow kidnapped thee ? "
"Nay, sir; not me, but Cicely and do na
leave him take her, sir, for he treats her very
ill! "
The little rascal lies," sneered Goole, though
his lips were the color of lead; I am her legal
guardian."
What! How? Thou wast her father but
a moment since "
"Nay, nay," Goole stammered, turning a
sickly hue. Her father's nearest friend, I
said; he gave her in my charge."
"My father's friend! cried Cicely. "Thou ?
Thou? His common groom! Why, he would
not give my finger in thy charge."
"He is the wiser daddy, then!" laughed
Jemmy Armstrong, for the fellow hath a T, for
Tyburn, writ upon his face."
The eyes of the bandy-legged man began to
shift from side to side; but still he put a bold
front on. Stand off," said he, and tried to
thrust Tom Webster back. "Thou 'It pay the
piper dear for this! The knave is a lying vaga-
bond. He hath stolen this pack of goods."
"Why, fie for shame!" cried Cicely, and
stamped her little foot. Nick doth not steal,
and thou knowest it, Gregory Goole! It is
thou who hast stolen my pretty clothes, and the
wine from my father's house! "
"Good, sweetheart! quoth Tom Webster,
eying the bandy-legged man with a curious
snap in his honest eyes. So the rascal hath
stolen other things than thee ? I thought that
yellow bow of his was tied tremendous high!
Why, mates, the dog is a branded rogue -
that bit of ribbon is tied through the hole in
his ear! "
Gregory Goole made a dash through the
throng where the press was least.
Thump! went Tommy Webster's club, and a
little puff of dust flew up from Gregory's pur-
ple cloak. But he was off so sharply and
dodged with such amazing skill that most of
the blows aimed at his head hummed through
the empty air, or thwacked some stout appren-
tice in the ribs as they all went whooping af-
ter him. He was out of the press and away
like a deer down a covert lane 'between two

shops ere one could say" Jack, Robin's son,"
and left the stout apprentices at every flying
leap. So presently they all gave over the
chase and came back, with the bag he had
dropped as he ran; and were so well pleased
with themselves for what they had done that
they gave three cheers for all the Cloth-workers
and Saddlers in London, and then three more
for Cicely and Nick. They would no doubt
have gone right on and given three for the bag
likewise, being strongly in the humour of it; but
" Hi, Tom Webster!" shouted one who could
hardly speak for cherries and cheese and puff-
ing; what 's gone with the Queen we 're to
have so fast, and the toll that we 're to take ? "
Tom Webster pulled at his yellow beard, for
he saiv that Cicely was no common child and
of gentler birth than they: "I do not think
she '11 bide the toll," said he, in half apology.
"What! is there anything to pay?" she
asked, with a rueful quaver in her voice. Oh,
Nick, there is to pay "
"We have no money, sirs," said Nick. I
be very sorry."
"If my father were here," said Cicely, he
would give thee a handful of silver; but I have
not a penny to my name." She looked up into
Tom Webster's face. "But, sir," said she, and
laid her hand upon his arm, "if ye care, I will
kiss thee upon the cheek."
"Why, marry come up My faith quoth
he, and suddenly blushed--to his own sur-
prise the most of all. "Why, what? Who 'd
want a sweeter penny for his pains ?" But,
" Here nay, nay the others cried; "ye 've
left us out. Fair play Fair play! "
All she could see was a forest of legs that
filled the lane from wall to wall, and six great
fellows towering over her. Why, sirs," cried
Cicely, confusedly, while her face grew rosy red,
"ye all shall kiss my hand-if--if-"
"If what ? they roared.
If ye will but wipe your faces clean!"
At the shout of laughter they sent up the
constable of the Cloth-men's ward awoke
from a sudden dream of war and bloody insur-
rection, and came down Cheapside, bawling:
"Peace, in the name of the Queen!" But
when he found it was only the apprentices of
Mincing Lane out Maying, he stole away

MASTER SKYLARK.

around a shop and made as if it were some
other fellow.
They took the humor of it like a jolly lot of
bears, and all came crowding around about,
wiping their mouths with a lick and a promise,
on what came first,- kerchief, doublet, as it
chanced,-laughing and shouldering each to be
first. Up with the little maid, there, Tom! "
they roared lustily.
Cicely gave him both her hands, and -" Up-
sydaisy! she was on the top of the corner-post,
where she stood with one hand on his brawny
shoulder, to steady herself, like a flower growing
by a wall, bowing gravely all about, and hold-
ing out her hand to be kissed, with as graceful
an air as a princess born, and withal a sweet,
quaint dignity that abashed the wildest there.
Some one or two came blustering, as if her
hand were not enough; but Jemmy Armstrong
rapped them so sharply over the. pate, with
Soft, ye loons; her hand-! that they dabbed
at her little finger-tips and were out of his reach
in a jiffy, rubbing their polls with a sheepish
grin: for Jemmy Armstrong's love-pats would
have cracked a hazel-nut.
Some came again, a second time. One came
even a third. But Cicely knew him by his
steeple-hat, and tucked her hand behind her,
saying: "Fie, sir, thou art greedy! Where-
upon the others laughed and punched him in
the ribs with their clubs until he bellowed
Quits! We '11 all be late to the archery if we
be not trotting on."
Nick's face fell at the merry shout of Fins-
bury, Finsbury ho!" "I dare na try to take
her home alone," said he; "that rogue may lie
in wait for us."
Oh, Nick, he is not coming back? cried
Cicely, and with that she threw her arms
around Tom Webster's neck. Oh, take us
with thee, sir; don't leave us all alone!"
Webster pulled his yellow beard. "Nay,
lass, it would not do," said he. We '11 be
mad larks by evening. But, there, sweetheart,
don't weep no more! That rogue shall not
catch thee again, I promise that."
Why, Tom," quoth Armstrong, "what 's
the coil? We 'll leave them at the Boar's
Head Inn, with sixpence each, until their
friends can come for them. Hey, mates, up

Great East Cheap !" And off they marched to
the Boar's Head Inn.

CHAPTER XXXV.
A SUDDEN RESOLVE.
NICK and Cicely were sitting on a bench in
the sun beside the tap-room door, munching a
savory mutton-pie which Tommy Webster
had bought for them. Beside them, Thver the
window-sill, the tapster twirled his spigot cheer-
fully; and in the door the carrier was bidding
the serving-maids good-by.
Around the inn-yard stood a row of heavy
canvas-covered wains and lumbering two-
wheeled carts, each surmounted by a well-
armed guard and drawn by six strong horses,
with harness strong as cannon-leathers. The
hostlers stood at the horses' heads, chewing at
wisps of barley-straw, as though their other fare
was scant, which from their sleek rotundity was
difficult to believe. The stable-boy, with a pot
of slush, and a head of hair like a last year's hay-
cock, was hastily greasing a forgotten wheel;
while, out of the room where the servants ate,
the drivers came stumbling down the steps, with
a mighty smell of onions and brawn. The
weekly train from London into the North was
ready to be off.
A portly, well-clad countryman with a shrewd
but good-humored countenance, and a wife be-
side him round and rosy of face as he, came
bustling out of the private door. How far
yet, Master John ? he asked, as he buckled
on his cloak.
"Forty-two miles to Oxford, sir," replied the
carrier. "We must be off if we 're to lie at
Uxbridge over night; for there hath been rain
beyond, sir, and the roads be werry deep."
Nick stared at the man for Oxford. Forty-
two miles to Oxford! And Oxford lay to the
south of Stratford fifty miles and two. Ninety-
four miles from Stratford town! Ninety-four
miles from home !
When will my father come for us, Nick? "
asked Cicely, turning her hand in the sun to
see the red along the edges of her fingers.
Indeed, I can na tell," said Nick. Mas-
ter Will Shakspere is coming anon, and I shall
go with him."

[SEPT.

902

MASTER SKYLARK.

"And leave me by myself? "
Nay, thou shalt go too. Thou 'It love to
see his garden and the rose-trees -it is like a
very country-place. He is a merry gentleman,
and oh, so kind! He is going to take me
home."
But my father will take us home when he
comes."
"To Stratford town, I mean."
"Away from daddy and me? Why, Nick! "
But my mother is in Stratford town."
Cicely was silent. Then I think I would
go too," she said, quite softly, looking down as
if there were a picture on the ground. When
one's mother is gone there is a hurting-place
that naught doth ever come into any more -
excepting daddy, and -and thee. We shall
miss thee, Nick, at supper-times. Thou 'It
come back soon ?"
I am na coming back."
"Not. coming back!" she laid the mutton-
pie down on the bench.
No I am na coming back."
Never ? "
Never."
She looked at him as if she had not alto-
gether understood.
Nick turned away. A strange uneasiness
had come upon him, as if someone were staring
at him fixedly. But no one was. There was
a Dutchman in the gate who had not been
there just before. "He must have sprung up
out of the ground," thought Nick, "or else
he is a very sudden Dutchman!" He had on
breeches like two great meal-sacks, and a Flem-
ish sea-cloth jacket full of wrinkles, as if it had
been lying in a chest. His back was turned,
and Nick could not help smiling, for the fel-
low's shanks came out of his breeches-bottoms
like the legs of a letter A. He looked like a
pudding on two skewers.
Cicely slowly took up the mutton-pie once
more, but did not eat.
"Is na the pasty good ? asked Nick.
"Not now," said she.
Nick turned away again.
The Dutchman was not in the gate. He
had crossed the inn-yard suddenly and was
sitting close within the shadow of the wall,
though the sunny side was pleasanter by far.

His wig was hanging down about his face, and
he was talking with the tapster's knave, a hun-
gry-looking fellow, clad in rusty black as if
someone were dead, although it was a holiday
and he had neither kith nor kin. The knave
was biting his under lip, and staring straight at
Nick.
S"And will I never see thee more?" asked
Cicely.
Oh, yes," said Nick; "oh, yes."
But he did not know whether she ever would
or no.
"Gee-wup, Dobbin! Yoicks, Ned! Tschk
tschk!" The leading cart rolled slowly
through the gate; a second followed it. The
drivers made a cracking with their whips, and
all the guests came out to see them off. But
the Dutchman, as the rest came out, arose, and
with the tapster's knave went in at a narrow
entrance beyond the tap-room steps.
"And when will Master Shakspere come for
thee ? asked Cicely once more, the cold pie
lying in her lap.
"I do na know. How can I tell? Do na
bother me so!" cried Nick, and dug his heels
into the cracks between the paving-stones; for,
after all that had come to pass, the starting of
the baggage train had made him sick for home.
Cicely looked up at him. She thought she
had not heard aright. He was staring after
the last cart as it rolled through the inn-yard
gate. His throat was working, and his eyes
were full of tears.
"Why, Nick," said she, art crying? "
"Nay," said he; "but very near"-and
dashed his hand across his face. Everything
doth happen so all at once -and I am na big
enough, Cicely. Oh, Cicely, I would I were
a mighty king! I 'd make it all up different,
somehow."
"Perhaps thou wilt be, some day, Nick,"
she answered quietly. "Thou 'dst make a very
lovely king. I could be queen, and daddy
should be Lord Admiral, and own the finest
play-house in the town."
But Nick was staring at the tap-room door.
A voice somewhere had startled him. The
guests were gone, and none was left but the
tapster's knave, leaning against the inner wall.
"Thy mother should come to live with us,

MASTER SKYLARK.

and thy father, and all thy kin," said Cicely,
dreamily smiling; "and the people would love
us, there would be no more war, and we should
be happy forevermore."
But Nick was listening--not to her- and
his face was a little pale. He felt a strange,
uneasy sense of some one staring at his back.
He whirled about- and looked in at the tap,
room window. For an instant a peering face
was there. Then it was gone; there was only
the Dutchman's frowsy wig and striped wool-
len cap. But the voice he had heard and the
face he had seen were the voice and the face
of Gregory Goole!
"I should love to see thy mother, Nick,"
said Cicely.
He got up steadily, though his heart was
jolting his very ribs. "Thou shalt, right speed-
ily," said he.
The carts were standing in a line. The
carrier came down the steps with his stirrup-
cup in hand. Nick's heart gave a sudden,
wild, resolute leap, and he touched the carrier
on the arm. "What will ye charge to carry
two as far as Stratford town ? he asked. His
mouth was dry as a dusty road, for the Dutch-
man had risen from his seat, and was coming
toward the door.
"I do na haul past Oxford," said the man.
"To Oxford, then how much ? Be quick?"
Nick thrust his hand into his breast, where he
carried the burgess's chain.
"Eightpence the day, for three days out -
two shilling 't is and find yourself. It is an
honest fare."
The tapster's knave came down the steps;
the Dutchman stood within the shadow of the
door.
"Wilt carry us for this?" Nick cried, and
thrust the chain into the fellow's hands.
He gasped and almost let it fall. Beshrew
my heart! Gadzooks!" said he. "Art thou
a prince in hiding, boy? 'T would buy me,
horses, wains, and all. Why, man alive, 't is
but a nip o' this!"
Good, then," said Nick joyfully. 'T is
done we '11 go. Come, Cicely, we 're going
home! "
Staring, the carrier followed him, weighing
the chain in his hairy hand. "Who art thou,

boy ? he cried again. "This matter hath a
queer look."
'T was honestly come by, sir," cried Nick,
no longer able to conceal a quiver in his voice;
"and my name is Nicholas Attwood. I come
from Stratford town."
Stratford-on-Avon ? Why, art kin to tanner
Simon Attwood there Attwood of Old-
town ?"
"He is my father, sir. Oh, leave us go with
thee take the whole chain! "
Slap went the carrier's cap in the dirt!
"Leave thee go wi' me? Gadzooks! he
cried, "My name be John Saddler why,
what? my daddy liveth in Chapel Lane be-
hind Will Underhill's. I stole thy father's
apples fifteen years. What ? go wi' me ? Get
on the wain, thou little fool get on all the
wains I own, and a plague upon thine eight-
pence, lad! Why, here, Hal telled me thou
wert dead, or lost, or some such fairy-tale! Up
on the sheepskin, both o' ye 1 "
The Dutchman came from the tap-room door
and spoke to the tapster's knave; but the words
which he spoke to that tapster's knave were
anything but Dutch.

CHAPTER XXXVI.
WAYFARING HOME.
AT Kensington watering-place, five miles
from London town, Nick held the pail for the
horses of the Oxford man.
"Hello, my buck!" quoth he, and stared at
Nick; "where under the sun didst pop from
all at once?" and, looking up, he spied Cicely
upon the carrier's wain. "What, John!" he
shouted, "thou saidst there were no more!"
"No more there were n't, sir," said John,
"but there be now"; and out with the whole
story.
"Well, I ha' farmed for fifty year," cried
honest Roger Clout, "yet never have I seen
the mate to yonder little maid, nor heard the
like o' such a tale! Wife, wife!" he cried, in a
voice as round and full of hearty cheer as one
who calls his own cattle home, across his own
fat fields. Come hither, Moll -here 's com-
pany for thee. For sure, John, they '11 ride wi'
Moll and I -'t is god-send, angels on a bag-

904

[SEPT.

MASTER SKYLARK.

905

gage-cart! Moll ha' lost her only one, and the
little maid will warm the cockles o' her heart,
say naught about mine own. La, now, she is
na feared o' me; God bless thee, child! Look
at her, Moll, as sweet as honey and the cream
o' the brindle cow."

the morning there was nothing to pay, for
Roger Clout had footed all the score.
Then on again through Beaconsfield and
High Wycombe, into and over the Chiltern
Hills in Buckinghamshire. In parts the land
was passing fair, with sheep in flocks upon

1
,-" _. S- .., -----

"'WILT CARRY US FOR THIS?' NICK CRIED, AND THRUST THE CHAIN INTO THE FELLOW'S HANDS."
So they rode with kindly Roger Clout and the hills and cattle knee-deep in the grass;
his good wife, by Hanwell, Hillingdon Hill, but otherwise the way was wild, with bogs
and Uxbridge, where they rested at the inn and moss in all the deeps, and dense beech-
near old St. Margaret's, Cicely with Mistress forests on the heights; and more than once the
Clout, and Nick with her good man. And in guards made ready their match-locks warily.
VOL. XXIV.-114.

MASTER SKYLARK.

But stout John Saddler's train was no soft
cakes for thieves, and they came up through
Bucks scot-free.
At times it drizzled fitfully, and the road was
rough and bad; but the third day was a fair,
sweet day, and most exceeding bright and fresh.
The shepherds whistled on the hills, and the
milkmaids sang in the winding lanes among the
white-thorn hedges, the smell of which was
everywhere. The singing, the merry voices
calling, the comfortable lowing of the kine, the
bleating of the sheep, the clinking of the bridle-
chains, and the heavy ruttle of the carts filled
the air with life and cheer. The wind was
blowing both warm and cool; and oh, the
blithe breeze of the English spring-time! Nick
went up the green hills, and down the white
dells like a leaf in the wind, now ahead and
now behind the winding train, or off into the
woods and over the fields for a posy-bunch for
Cicely, calling and laughing back at her, and
filling her lap with flowers and ferns until the
cart was all one great sweet-smelling bower.
As for Cicely, Nick was there, so she was
very well content. She had never gone a-visit-
ing in all her life before; and she would see
Nick's mother, and the flowers in the yard, the
well, and that wondrous stream,-the Avon, of
which Nick talked so much. "Stratford is a
fair, fair town,. though very full of fools," her
father often said. But she had nothing to do
with the fools, and daddy would come for her
again; so her laughter bubbled like a little
spring throughout the livelong day.
As the sun went down in the yellow west
they came into Oxford from the south on
the easterly side. The Cherwell burned with
the orange light reflected from the sky, and the
towers of the famous town of olden schools
and scholars stood up black-purple against the
western glow, with rims of gold on every roof
and spire.
Up the High street into the corn-market
rolled the tired train, and turned into the ram-
bling square of the old Crown Inn, near Carfax
church, a large, substantial hostelry, one of
merry England's best, clean-chambered, home-
like, full of honest cheer.
There was a shout of greeting everywhere.
The hostlers came to walk the horses till they

cooled, and to rub them down before they fed,
for they were all afoam. Master Davenant
himself saw to the storing of the wains; and
Mistress Davenant, a comely dame with smooth
brown hair and ruddy cheeks, and no less wit
than sprightly grace, was in the porch to meet
the company. "Well, good Dame Clout," said
she, "art home again? What tales we '11 have
Didst see Tom Lane? No? Pshaw! But
buss me, Moll, we 've missed thy butter par-
lously." And then, quite free, she kissed both
Nick and Cicely.
"What there, Dame Davenant! cried Roger
Clout; "art passing them around ? "-and
laughed. "Do na forget me."
Nay, nay," she answered; "but I am out.
Here, Nan," she called to the smutty-faced
scullery-maid, a buss for Master Clout. His
own Moll's busses be na fine enough since he
hath been to town."
So, joking, laughing, they went in; while
plain John Saddler backed out of the porch as
sooty Nan came up, for fear the jilt might offer
somewhat of the sort to him, and was off in
haste to see to his teams. "There 's no leaving
it to the boys," said he, for they 'drub 'em down
wi' a water-pail, and give 'em straw to drink."
When the guests all came to the four-penny
table to sup, Nick spoke to Master Roger Clout.
"Ye 've done enough for us, sir. Thank ye
with all my heart; but I 've a turn will serve
us here; and, sir, I 'd rather stand on my own
legs. Ye will na mind ?" And when they all
were seated at the board, he rose up stoutly
at the end, and called out, brave and clear.:
"Sirs, and good dames all, will ye be pleased
to have some music while ye eat ? For, if ye
will, the little maid and I will sing you the
latest song from London town -a merry thing,
with a fine trolly-lolly, sirs, to glad your hearts
with hearing."
Would they have music? To be sure! Who
would not have music while he ate must be a
Flemish dunderkopf, said they. So Nick and
Cicely stood at one side of the room, upon a
bench by the server's board, and sang together,
while he played upon Mistress Davenant's git-
tern:
Hey, laddie, hark to the merry, merry lark!
How high he singeth clear:

906

[SEPT.

MASTER SKYLARK.

Oh, a morn in spring is the sweetest thing
That cometh in all the year '
Oh, a morn in spring is the sweetest thing
That cometh in all the year!

"Ring, ting! it is the merry spring-time;
How full of heart a body feels!
Sing hey trolly lolly, oh, to live is to be jolly
When spring-time cometh with the summer at
her heels !
"God save us all, my jolly gentlemen,
We '11 merry be to-day;
For the cuckoo sings till the greenwood rings,
And it is the month of May!
For the cuckoo sings till the greenwood rings,
And it is the month of May! "

Then the men at the table all waved their
pewter pots and thumped upon the board, roar-
ing Hey trolley lolly, oh, to live is to be jolly! "
until the rafters rang.
"What, lad !" cried good Dame Davenant;
"come, stay with me all year and sing, thou
and this little maid o' thine. 'T will cost thee
neither cash nor care. Why, thou 'dst fill the
house with such a throng as it hath never
seen!" And in the morning she would not
take a penny for their lodging nor their keep.
Nay, nay," said she; they ha' brought good
custom to the house, and left me a brave little
tale to tell for many a good long year. We
inns-folk be not common penny-grabbers;
marry, no! and furthermore, she made interest
with a carrier to give them a lift to Woodstock
on their way.
When they came to Woodstock the carrier
set them down by the gates of a park built
round by a high stone wall, over which they
could not see, and with his wain went in at the
gate, leaving them to journey on together
through a little rain-shower.
The land grew fatter than before. There
were few trees upon the hills and scarcely any
springs at which to drink; but much tender
grass, with countless sheep nibbling everywhere.
The shower was soon blown away, the sun
came out, and a pleasant wind sprang up out
of the south. Here and there, beside some
cottage wall, the lilacs bloomed and the later
orchard trees were apple-pink and cherry-white
with May.
They came to a puddle in the road where

there was a dance of butterflies. Cicely clapped
her hands with glee. A goldfinch dipped
across the path like a little yellow streak of
laughter in the sun. Oh, Nick, what is it ? "
she cried. "A bird," said he. A truly bird ? "
and she clasped her hands. "Will it ever come
again ? "Again ? Oh, yes, or, la! another
one -there 's plenty in the weeds."
And so they fared all afternoon, until at dusk
they came to Chipping-Norton across the fields
-a short cut to where the thin blue supper-
smoke curled up. The mists were rising from
the meadows; earth and sky were blending on
the hills; a little silver sickle-moon hung, in the
fading violet, low in the western sky. Under
an old oak in a green place a fiddler and a
piper were playing, and youths and maidens
were dancing in the brown light. Some little
chaps were playing blindman's-buff near-by;
and the older folk were gathered by the tree.
Nick came straight to where they stood;
and bowing, he and Cicely together, doffed his
cap, and said in his most London tone, We
bid ye all good e'en, good folk."
His courtly speech and manner, as well as
his clothes and Cicely's jaunty gown, no little
daunted the simple country folk. Nobody
spoke, but, standing silent, all stared at the
two quaint little vagabonds as mild kine stare
at passing sheep, in a quiet lane.
"We need somewhat to eat this night, and
we want a place to sleep," said Nick. "The
beds must be right clean- we have good ap-
petites. If ye can do for us, we will dance for
you anything that ye may desire-- the Queen's
Own Measure, La Donsella, the new Alle-
mand of My Lord Pembroke, a pavone or a
tinternell, or the Galliard of Savoy. Which
doth it please you, mistresses ? and he bowed
to the huddling young women, who scarcely
knew what to make of it.
La Joan," whispered one, "he calleth thee
'mistress!' Speak up, wench." But Joan
stoutly held her peace.
Or, if ye will, the little maid will dance the
coranto for you, straight from My Lord Chan-
cellor's dancing-master; and while she dances
I will sing."
"Why, hark 'e, Rob," spoke out one mo-
therly dame, they two do look clean-like.

MASTER SKYLARK.

Children, too- who 'd gi' them stones when
they beg for bread? I '11 do for them this
night myself; and thou, the good man, and Kit
can sleep in the hutch. So there, dears; now
let's see the Lord Chancellor's tantrums."

Nick took his place at the side of the ring.
" Now, Cicely said he.
"Thou 't call 'Sa-sa!' and give me the time
of the coup d'archet ? she whispered, timidly
hesitant, as she stepped to the midst of the ring.

"'OH, NICK, WHAT IS IT ? SHE CRIED."

'T is not a tantrums, Goody," said Nick Ay, then," said he. "'T is off; 't is off! and
politely, "but a coranto." struck up a lively tune, snapping his fingers for
La, young master, what 's the odds, just so the time. Cicely, bowing all about her, slowly
we sees it done ? Some folks calls whittles began to dance.
'knives,' and thinks 't wun not cut theys fin- It was a pretty sight to see: her big eyes
gers wide and earnest, her cheeks a little flushed,

908

MASTER SKYLARK.

her short hair curling, and her crimson gown
fluttering about her as she danced the quaint,
running step forward and back across the grass,
balancing archly with her hands upon her hips
and a little smile upon her lips, in the swaying
motion of the coupee, curtseying gracefully as
one tiny slippered foot peeped out from her
rustling skirt, tapping on the turf, now in front
and now behind. Nick sang like a blackbird
in the hedge. And how those country lads and
lasses stared to see such winsome, dainty grace!
"La me!" gaped one; "'t is fairy folk-she
doth na even touch the ground! "
"The pretty dear," the mothers said. "Doll,
why canst thou na do the like, thou lum-
mox ? "
Tut! sighed the buxom Doll; I have na
wingses on my.feet!"
Then Cicely, breathless, bowed, and ran to
Nick's side, asking:
"Was it all right, Nick ?"
"Right!" said he, and stroked her hair;
't was better than thou didst ever dance it for
M'sieu'."
For why ?" said she, and flushed, with a
quick light in her eyes; "for why -because
this time I danced for thee."
The country-folk, enchanted, called for more
and more. Nick sang another song, and he
and Cicely danced the Galliard together, while
the piper piped and the fiddler fiddled away
like mad, and the moon went down, and the
cottage doors grew ruddy with the light inside.
Then Dame Pettiford gave them milk and oat-
cakes in a bowl, a bit of honey in the comb,
and a cup of strawberries; and Cicely fell fast
asleep with the last of the strawberries in her
hand.
So they came up out of the south through
Shipston-on-Stour, in the main-travelled way,
and with every mile Nick felt home growing
nearer. Streams sprang up in the meadow-
lands, with sedgy islands, and lines of silvery
willows bordering their banks. Flocks and
herds cropped beneath tofts of ash and elm and
beech. Snug homes peeped out of hazel copses
by the road. The passing carts had a familiar

look; and at Alderminster, Nick saw a man he
thought he recognized.
Before he knew that he was there, they
topped Edge Hill.
There lay Stratford! as he had left it lying;
not one stick or stack or stone but he could
put his finger on, and say, "This place I
know! Green pastures, grassy levels, streams,
groves, mills, the old grange and the manor-
house, the road that forked in three, and the
hills of Arden beyond it all. There was the
tower of the Guild Hall Chapel above the clus-
tering, dun-thatched roofs among the green
and blossom white; to left, the spire of Holy
Trinity sprang up beside the shining Avon.
Bull Lane he made out dimly, and a red-tiled
roof among the trees.
"There, Cicely," he said. There, there!"
and laughed a queer, little shaky laugh next
door to crying for joy.
Wat Raven was sweeping Clopton Bridge.
Hullo, there, Wat! I be come home again!"
Nick cried. Wat stared but did not know him.
Around the corner and down High Street.
Fynes Morrison burst in at the Guild School
door: Nick Attwood 's home!" he shouted;
and his eyes were like two plates.
Then the last lane--and the smoke from his
father's house!
The garden gate stood open, and there was
someone working in the yard.
It is my father, Cicely "; he laughed. Fa-
ther 1" he cried, and hurried in the lane.
Simon Attwood straightened up and looked
across the fence. His arms were held a little
out, and his hands hung down, with bits of
moist earth clinging to them. His brows were
darker than a year before, and his hair was
grown more gray; his back, too, stooped.
"Art thou a-calling me? he asked.
Nick laughed. "Why, father, do ye na
know me ?" he cried out. "'T is I-'t is Nick
-come home! "
Two steps the stern old tanner took -two
steps to the latchet-gate. Not one word did he
speak; but he set his hand to the latchet-gate
and closed it in Nick's face!

"IF I was such a coward as you are, I 'd
stay in the house, behind the door, all day!"
said Joe Simmons, scornfully, to Lizzie Warner,
as the two walked home from school.
But, Joe," expostulated Lizzie, casting fear-
ful glances at the dried grasses and sunflowers
along the road, I never was afraid when we
lived in Lincolnville; but since we moved 'way
out on the prairie here, where people live so
far apart, and everything is so still and lone-
some, and I have heard your awful stories
about coyotes and Indians, I feel all the time
as if something dreadful was chasing me, or
waiting in the sunflowers to jump at me."
Joe laughed derisively. Then, looking down
the mile of road yet before Lizzie, he pointed to
a little hillock by the roadside, about half the
way, and exclaimed excitedly:

D' ye see those sunflowers shaking ? I '11
bet a cent there 's a wildcat waiting for you
in there. You can't tell when a wildcat or a
coyote will jump out at you; but if you scoot
past real quick, you may get home all right."
And, with a mocking grin, the boy ran into
his house, while poor Lizzie, with throbbing
heart, ran down the road, panting and half
sobbing, feeling that every step was menaced
by dangerous and unknown foes.
For the twelve years of her life she had lived
in Illinois, and had come to western Kansas
with her parents but a few months before.
She thought Kansas a land teeming with In-
dians and buffalo, as well as with all the wild
animals known to North America. When they
reached their destination, and she looked out
upon vast, treeless stretches of valley and undu-

A BRAVE LITTLE COWARD.

lating hills, she was confirmed in her dread.
The corn-fields and dried sunflower stalks were,
in her mind, but lurking-places for Indians;
and the high-banked river near-by, with its nar-
row strip of trees and bushes, seemed created
to shelter wild beasts.
So she suffered in secret, until the little
school-house, two miles away, opened its doors.
Then Joe Simmons, living half-way on her road,
became her daily companion. He was amused
by her fear, and made himself her authority on
the dangers of Kansas. By his thrilling stories
of Indians and wild beasts, he had thoughtlessly
played upon Lizzie's weakness until her days
were full of dread.
The next morning, at the end of her first
mile, Joe stood waiting for Lizzie. It was a
windy day, the grass and weeds bending before
the ever-recurring southern blasts. The sky
was of a solid, dusty color, betokening con-
tinued wind, and the sun shone dimly.
By Joe's side, clinging closely to his hand,
was his four-year-old sister, little flaxen-haired
Susie, whose chubby face was beaming with de-
light in anticipation of a visit to school.
Do you think there 's any danger of a hur-
ricane to-day, Joe ?" queried Lizzie, anxiously
scanning the weird sky and landscape.
Should n't be surprised," answered the boy,
grasping his opportunity. "And if one comes,
she '11 be a terror. Never saw a Kansas hurri-
cane, did you ? It's worse than anything else
except a Kansas cyclone. One minute you
don't know anything's going to happen; and
then biff! bang! whoop! you 're flattened
out on the ground, with about ten tons of lum-
ber and dead cattle on top of you."
Oh-h, my!"
Lizzie shuddered as she exclaimed, and Joe
was just about to follow up his advantage when
his eye caught the southern horizon.
"Sa-ay," he exclaimed, "just you look over
there!"
Lizzie looked, but saw only the undulating
hills.
But Joe's practised eyes saw, besides, the
gray of smoke low in the sky -the smoke of
distant burning prairies.
Don't you see ? he asked, rather disgust-
edly. "You would if you was n't such a ten-

derfoot. The hills this side of the Mulberry
River have burned off. They are too far away
to look black; but that 's what the smoke
means. I '11 bet lots of barns and stock have
been burned."
"What dreadful things prairie-fires must
be!" said Lizzie. "The only one I ever saw
was when papa burned off our pasture."
"Twenty acres don't make a prairie fire," re-
sponded Joe, contemptuously. "Wait till you
see a fire run twenty miles. That 's what one
did that came over here from the Mulberry
hills several years ago; and it 's what this one
would do if the people between here and there
did n't watch their fire-guards."
The air was oppressive and hazy, and school-
work dragged. Joe, for the edification of Su-
sie, to whom the enforced quiet was tedious,
drew wonderful pictures on his slate. The rest
of the school indulged in shufflings and whis-
perings, unrebuked by the teacher, for she too
seemed to feel the spirit of the day. Lizzie,
overcome by some undefined fear, divided her
time between her book and the strange, and
to her ominous, sky without, where the sun
hung, halfway up' the heavens, a hazy ball,
too sullen to rebuke the inquiring eye.
The school-house stood at the foot of the first
of the hills that bounded the river-valley. Just
behind the little building the ground sloped up-
ward gently for a short distance, before rising
into a single steep, round hill, a little apart
from the continuous succession of hills that ran
into each other without a break to the little
Mulberry River, twenty miles away. To the
north the ground sloped into a valley that ex-
tended for miles up the course of the winding
river, as far as the eye could reach.
The noon intermission had come, and dinner-
pails were being produced by the hungry chil-
dren, when one of the larger boys rushed into
the room with frightened face.
Fire!" he gasped. "The prairies are afire!"
There was stir and trampling among the chil-
dren, and all huddled toward the door. On
top of the hill that rose from the playground,
seemingly poising an instant before swooping
down on the school-house and the defenseless
children, was a towering wall of flame, sending
billows of smoke into the air, and shooting forked

A BRAVE LITTLE COWARD.

tongues of fire aloft, as it licked hungrily at the
rank brown grass. From the south to the
north, and for many miles to the east, the val-
ley would be swept clean, except where the iso-
lated homes were surrounded by fire-guards or
plowed fields. To the east, in front of the
school-house, ran the wagon-road through the
grass, and there lay their only safety, for on
the side of the next hill was the nearest house
-a dugout, with ample fire-guards about it.

"SAFE ON THE WINDWARD SIDE OF THE SMOKE WAS SUSIE
KNELT LIZZIE."
Down this road the teacher hurried the chil-
dren, keeping ever behind them. The larger
scholars ran ahead, too terror-stricken to think
of anything but their own safety, and were soon
out of danger; but only the short distance
saved the smaller ones as, protected and urged
by their teacher, they pattered down the road,
with eyes and throats smarting from the smoke
that swirled about them. Behind them roared
and crackled the flames, but everyone of the

little flock reached the plowed guards ahead of
them, and were saved.
As they hurried into the yard, panting and
breathless, Joe raised a frightened cry and
sprang to meet them.
Susie! Susie where are you ?"
Pupils and teacher looked at each other in
anguished dismay, and began a distracted count-
ing of the children.
"And where 's Lizzie Warner?" piped a
childish voice.
All turned and gazed
shudderingly on the
scene from which they
had just fled. The fire
had swept over the
school-house, and was
already far down the
valley, leaving black-
ness behind it. The
feet of the children
Shad worn away the
grass about the house,
o ,. leaving no place for
,. the fire to catch in
the lower part of the
building; but as the
Sbillows of flame had
rolled over the roof, its
apex had caught and
S n held a little tongue of
S flame; and now the
C. whole roof was rapid-
ly disappearing under
S spurts of red and roll-
ing clouds of black.
Were the missing
children lying suffo-
SIMMONS, AD BY HER SDE cated beneath the burn-
ing roof, or were they
blistered and blackened lying on the prairie,
caught in futile flight ?
Leaving the little ones behind, the teacher
scattered the others over the prairie, not know-
ing in which direction the bewildered children
might have fled, and with Joe, now wildly sob-
bing, hurried toward the burning building. The
smoke and heat from the charred grass were
stifling, but not more so than the terror that
seemed to keep their hearts at a standstill as

912

1897.] A BRAVE LIT'
they ran, their only thought the possible rescue
of the bodies from the now partly consumed
building.
They dashed through the smoke that poured
over the tottering walls toward the entrance,
which was on the opposite side. Once around
the building, the two stopped suddenly, unable
to move from the reaction that followed the
tension which both had been enduring.
On the ground, leaning against some of the
fallen sticks of the woodpile, close to the well-
curb, and safe on the windward side of the
smoke, was Susie Simmons, conscious and un-
hurt, but blackened and limp. By her side
knelt Lizzie, striving, with a grimy handker-
chief, to wash the soot from the little one's face.
After a moment of silence, Joe flung him-
self by his sister, and caught her in his arms,
with wild endearments and renewed sobbings-
a breach of his idea of manly behavior of which
he would not have been guilty under less ex-
citing conditions, while the teacher, scarcely
less relieved, lifted Lizzie to a seat by her side
to learn of her escape.
So engrossed had she been in the welfare of
the smaller child that her own condition and
appearance had not occurred to her. Her
clothes dripping, her hair singed, her face dis-
figured by smoke and paths of perspiration, her
eyes wide and scared, trembling and half cry-
ing, she told her story.
"I should have been with you and the chil-
dren, but after we had started I remembered
that I had heard Joe tell Susie to sit still till he
came back; but that was before he knew what
was the matter, and I knew he had forgotten her
when he saw the fire, so I ran into the house
for her. I thought, maybe, I could get her out
before the fire came; but I was no more than
inside when a flame and a lot of smoke sucked
in after me. I slammed the door, and dragged
Susie to the water-pail; for I had heard about
firemen breathing through wet cloths, and I
dipped our handkerchiefs into the water, and
held them to our faces. It must have been
only a minute, but it seemed to me an hour,
that the fire was over us, and it was dreadful!

TLE COWARD. 913
We could n't breathe, the room was so hot and
so full of smoke, and every window seemed full
of red and black snakes. Then the window-
panes began to crack, and I thought the fire
would fill the'house in another minute; and
then, just as we could see light and a bit of the
sky, we'seemed to fall down, down, ever so far.
But as I fell I caught the water-pail, and the
cold water fell all over me, and kept me awake.
Then I heard the fire crackle in the roof, so I got
Susie out here, and brought out your papers and
all the books I could get out before the smoke
was too thick for me to go in. And it 's made
me feel rather tired."
She concluded weakly, and leaned against
the sticks of wood behind her, for she was
out of breath. Then Joe, the bluff, the severe,
the scoffer at "sissy-boys," did a strange thing.
He went across to Lizzie, threw his arms about
her, and kissed her, not once only, but twice,
on her grimy cheek.
"I 've made fun of you and called you a
coward lots of times, and felt like a hero my-
self; but to-day, when I forgot Susie, and you
came back and stayed through the fire with
her, it showed 'which was the coward and
which the hero. And I '11 tell you now that
there have n't been any Indians or wildcats
here for years, and the coyotes won't fight, and
there has never been a cyclone in this country;
so I 've been making up yarns just to scare you.
Don't ever speak to me again if you don't
want to."
Which, taken altogether, was quite the most
correct, eloquent, and touching speech that Joe
had ever made.
Don't tell me not to speak to you," re-
turned Lizzie, with spirit; "for I shall, lots of
times. Still, I am glad, all the same, that I
don't need to dread Indians and wildcats and
cyclones any more, for the prairie fire was so
awful when it came. But," she added reflec-
tively, I 'm glad that I thought to come back
and stay with Susie, for she 'd have either
smothered or burned up; and I am glad, too,
to have us both know that real things don't
frighten me as much as imaginary ones do."

SVOL. XXIV.-II5.

A RIGHT ROYAL ROBE.

By FREDERIC A. LUCAS.

A MILLION dollars seems a pretty round sum
to pay for a cloak; and probably even Worth
never dreamed of asking so fabulous a price for
the most elaborate of his garments. And yet
in the National Museum at Washington is a
cloak the cost of which cannot be reckoned at

the court were forced to content themselves
with feather-boas, as we should call them,
known as leiss." These capes and collars were
made from the yellow, red, and black feathers
of a few species of small birds peculiar to the
Sandwich Islands, and called, from their habits,

FEATHER CLOAK FORMERLY BELONGING TO THE KING OF THE SANDWICH ISLANDS. NOW IN THE NATIONAL MUSEUM,
WASHINGTON, D. C.

less than this vast amount; and ladies may be
pleased to learn that it was not a woman, but
a man, who was guilty of such a piece of ex-
travagance.
Long years ago, when the Hawaiian Islands,
small as they are, supported not one but sev-
eral flourishing kingdoms, the kings, chiefs,
and nobles, whenever they appeared in public
on state occasions, wore, instead of the purple
and ermine of more civilized potentates, capes
and cloaks of brilliant feathers. The ladies of

honey-suckers. Fashion ruled even in those
days, and as the yellow feathers were scarcer
than the red, yellow was the fashionable color;
and the more powerful the chief the more yel-
low was his robe of state. These yellow fea-
thers were found only on two or three species
of birds, the finest coming from a bird called in
the native language "mamo," and known as
Drepanis pacifica by ornithologists.
These birds, with their striking black-and-
yellow plumage, were as dear to the hearts of

A RIGHT ROYAL ROBE.

the Hawaiian monarchs as they might be to-
day to the hearts of patriotic Princeton students,
and were sought for far and near throughout
the islands. The populace paid poll-taxes in
golden feathers instead of golden dollars, and as
each bird furnished but a few feathers, the taxes
may be considered as having been high. Some
estimate of the value of the feathers may be
formed from the prices paid in later times, when
a piece of nankeen cloth valued at a dollar and
a half was the equivalent of five feathers; but,
after all, the great element in the cost of these
cloaks was time and labor, since the making
of a single cloak required from fifty to a
hundred years.
As the feathers obtained for taxes were very
far from supplying the demand, the chiefs were
accustomed to employ a regular staff of bird-
catchers, much as a medieval baron had his
staff of falconers. These skilled foresters pre-
pared a sort of bird-lime from the gum of
the fragrant "olapa," mixed with the juice of
the breadfruit-tree, and with it smeared the
branches of the flowering trees frequented by
the honey-suckers.
One species of bird, adorned with two tufts
of yellow feathers only, could be released after
these had been plucked; but the coveted fea-
thers of the mamo grew upon the body, and to
obtain them the life of the bird was sacrificed.
And just as year by year the fur-seal legions
have been thinned, so year by year the mamo
disappeared before the dusky goddess of fashion
until the last one was trapped, and the bird

lived only in the name mamo, which had been
applied to the robes made from its feathers.
Truly regal they were in appearance, the
finest gleaming in the sunlight like mantles of
gold, while those made of red and yellow fea-
thers had a barbaric splendor of their own. The
groundwork of these cloaks is a rather coarse
network into which the feathers are woven with
a skill that, like the bird, has passed away and
is a lost art.
The great war-cloak of Kamehameha I. was
the work of years; during the reigns of eight
preceding monarchs it grew beneath the hands
of cunning craftsmen, until in all its fair propor-
tions-it became the property of Kamehameha
the Powerful, the outward badge of the sov-
ereignty which claimed sway over all the sur-
rounding islands.
This cloak, made entirely of yellow feathers,
is four feet in length, and nearly twelve around
the bottom about the same size as the one in
the National Museum, although this last is a
trifle more than half composed of red feathers
from a more plebeian bird which science has
aptly named Vestiaria coccinea, or clothed in
scarlet." The dloak was once the property of
the powerful chief Kekuaskalami, who forfeited
it, together with his life, in a rebellion having
for its purpose the restoration of the ancient re-
ligion of Hawaii. It next came into the hands
of Kamehameha III., by whom it was pre-
sented to Commodore J. H. Aulick, and finally
it was deposited in the National Museum by
the Commodore's grandson, Mr. R. O. Aulick.

A LONG-FELT WANT.

BY CAROLYN WELLS.

ONE day wee Willie and his dog
Sprawled on the nursery floor.
He had a florist's catalogue,
And turned the pages o'er,

Till all at once he gave a spring.
Hurrah!" he cried with joy;
"Mama, here 's just the very thing
To give your little boy!

" For when we fellows go to school,
We lose our things, you know;
And in that little vestibule
They do get mixed up so.

"And as you often say you can't
Take care of 'em for me,
Why don't you buy a rubber plant
And an umbrella tree "

915

THE poet's daughter sat on a toadstool at
sunset by the great sea, and ate her bowl of
porridge. And while she was dazzling her
eyes watching the setting sun, a flying-dragon
came crawling up over the rocks. He fanned
the little girl with his wing, and when she
thanked him politely he begged her not to
mention it. So she finished eating her porridge
very comfortably, and when he saw that it was
gone he cleared his throat and said timidly:
Do you ever play Twenty Questions ?"
"Yes, indeed," said the poet's daughter.
"Do you want to play now?"
I should like it very much."
Then the dragon was full of joy, for he was
fond of the game, and had not played for two
hundred years.
You think of something," said he eagerly,
"and I '11 ask the questions. Are you ready ?
Yes? Animal, mineral, or vegetable ?"
Neither," said the poet's daughter.
"Is it something you can see ? "Yes."
"Hear? Yes."

"Living ?" No."
Is it something men make ? "Yes."
"Is it useful? "Ye-e-s."
"Ornamental ?" "Yes."
"Has it any color ?" No."
"Something you can see and hear, that men
make, is useful and ornamental, and has no color,"
said the dragon, thoughtfully. "Hum! Let me
think." He put his head under his wing and
thought for three minutes. "Can you play it ?"
No," said the poet's daughter, shaking her
head and laughing.
"Then," said the dragon, "not a game or
music? Hum! Is it used for saying things?"
"Yes."
Made by men- that makes ten," said the
dragon, puzzled. Did you ever make one ?"
"Yes."
S"Have I?"
"Yes! she said laughing, "just now "
"It must be something one can say," the
dragon said, after thinking a minute. "Is it
something I made by speaking ? "

TWENTY QUESTIONS.

"Yes."
"Is it a sentence ?"
No."
"Is it a question ?"
"No."
"Is it made of words ?"
Yes."
"This," said the dragon, is really not easy!
I must be very slow, but, really, I don't know.
Have I made more than one ? "
"Yes," said the poet's daughter, laughing.
"Is it any sort of a mistake ? "
No."

"Is it any sort of a try -like a guess or
question ?"
No."
"One more makes the score. "Is it any
sort of a story ?"
"No!"
"Now I have three guesses," said the dragon,
wrinkling his eyebrows. "Is it any sort of
a remark or observation ? Or a joke? Or a
- oh, I see! I have it now! It is a-- "
And this time he was right!
But it was a hard one, for he made three of
them before he knew what it was!

A little old man' ."... '
of the^si '

In V
Almost up to s chin
And he had? thing with
/ff,,, `,,-. .

which to bail.

this little old
of the

st drew out his
k-knife so
ut,
a ole with
its blade
In the bottom
She made,
Il of the water ran out.

917

THE LAST THREE SOLDIERS.

BY WILLIAM HENRY SHELTON.

[This story was begun in the November number.

CHAPTER XX.
DISCOVERIES.
IT was not until late in the afternoon of the
day on which they had altered the map that
the three soldiers returned to the examination
of the scrap of paper which they had agreed
from the first could have reached the moun-
tain-top only by falling from the balloon the
year before.
"How is this?" cried Coleman, pointing
excitedly to the dates of the foreign telegrams.
" This piece of newspaper could not have come
by the balloon. The balloon passed over the
mountain on September 5, having left the city
of Charleston, as declared by the tall aeronaut,
at 3:30 o'clock of the afternoon before, which
was the 4th of September. Look at the dates
for yourself," he continued, handing the paper
to Bromley. "Was n't the Honorable M. P.
drowned on the morning of September 4 ?
Can't you read there that the earthquake in
Spain was on the 4th ? "
What of that ? said Bromley; you can't
make out the date of the paper."
"I don't care what the date of publication
was," replied Coleman. If it came by the
balloon it was published before September 5.
Now please tell me how it could bring Euro-
pean news of the 4th ? "
Hum! said Bromley, somewhat puzzled.
"If it had been published on the 3d, it could
not bring news of the 4th that 's certain."
"I have it," cried Philip; "Fred has got
the dates of the diary more than a week out
of the way. We thought the balloon passed on
September 5. It was nearer the i5th."
No," exclaimed Coleman, glaring at Philip;
" there is no mistake in the record; not a date
is omitted. In leap-year a day was added
to February when it came around. I make a

mistake in the date! No, sir! There is no
mistake. Whatever happens, I will stand on
the rec-"
You are right, old man," cried Bromley,
interrupting him; "and the paper proves it.
Don't you see the point ? They have got the
Atlantic cable down at last, and working to a
charm. The paper was published on the 4th of
September. It was an afternoon paper, and this
piece fell from the balloon on the 5th of Sep-
tember."
They agreed that this was wonderful as ex-
plaining without doubt what at first seemed
impossible, and at the same time verifying the
accuracy of the dates in the diary which Lieu-
tenant Coleman had conducted for more than
six years at the time the balloon passed. Cole-
man and Bromley remembered distinctly the
unsuccessful attempts at laying the Atlantic
cable in the summer of 1858, and the fame of
Cyrus Field as its projector; and now by the
discovery of this scrap of yellow and tattered
paper they were made aware that the great
project had been continued to a successful
issue. Possibly they were the more keenly in-
terested by this evidence of progress in the
world below from having been themselves con-
nected with telegraphing in a modest way. At
all events, they regarded the yellow messenger
as one of their most significant possessions, and
skewered it against the chimney through the
very hole made by the dry twig which had held
it so long for their inspection under the cover
of the rock.
It was near the end of July now, and the
spears of corn which had thrust their tiny dark-
green lances out of the mellow earth had first
turned yellow, and then withered and died. A
few plants here and there had escaped the rav-
ages of the grubs, but the yield would.be insig-
nificant, and they were good enough farmers
by this time to know that to plant more would
i8

THE LAST THREE SOLDIERS.

be only a waste of the small store of food they
had left. If the lives of the fowls had been
spared, it might have been different. At the
time the ground had been spaded the few sad
roosters had done all that lay in their power to
exterminate the grubs, but their capacity was
not the capacity of the four hundred fowls.
The potatoes had suffered, though less, from
the same hidden enemy; but unless something
could be done to increase their food-supply,
the three soldiers would be reduced to the
verge of starvation before another winter came
around. They might yet be forced to abandon
their vegetarian principles and eat the bear and
the six old roosters. Rather than do anything
so inhuman, they declared they would find some
way to open communication with the people in
the valley. They might easily have planted a
larger area in former years, and stored up corn
against a failure in the crop, but of this they
had never thought.
The morning after they had discovered the
scrap of paper on the mica shelf, they all went
solemnly to the mill and watched Philip set
the machinery in motion and grind the first of
the nine small sacks of corn. The whir of the
wheels and the hum of the stones in the midst
of the splashing of the water outside made the
sweetest of music in their ears, but the song
of the mill was of brief duration. When the
last kernels began to dance on the old cavalry
boot-leg in the bottom of the hopper, the
miller shut off the water, and in the silence
that followed the three soldiers looked rue-
fully at the small heap of yellow meal on the
floor of the dusty bin. It was not more
than enough to keep themselves and the para-
lyzed old rooster alive for a week. If they re-
lied upon the meal alone, in nine weeks they
would be out of bread, and the golden mill
would be a useless possession.
Discovery was their only hope for further sub-
sistence. They had made some remarkable
finds in the past, but at the beginning of their
eighth year on the mountain it would seem that
no secrets of the plateau had escaped the pry-
ing eyes of these enterprising young men.
Philip reminded his comrades of the bee-tree,
which was undoubtedly stored with honey, be-
yond the southern cliff; but this they had always

regarded as impassable. From the mica shelf
they could see that it was a narrow ledge, and
not a higher level; and although the small shelf
extended a trifle beyond it, the soldiers had
seen no way of scaling the rocks which rose
from the brambles and mica, so' as to reach the
level beyond the southern ledge.
They had never seen these rocks from above,
nor any part of the brambly half-acre, for the
reason that the edge of the plateau shelved off
in a dangerous incline of smooth granite, which
it was not possible to look over. Otherwise
they might have discovered the outside half-
acre long before they found the cavernous path
which led to it. Bromley now proposed to be
lowered to the outer edge of the shelving rock
by means of the breeches-buoy which had
lifted Philip from his perilous seat on the ava-
lanche. It was not at all a dangerous experi-
ment, and as soon as he was in a position to
examine the rocks below the base of the south-
ern cliff, he saw a narrow ledge which would
afford a sure foothold, and which led away up-
ward until it was lost behind the rocks. Al-
though invisible from below, it could be reached
by their longest ladder.
Whether the path along the ledge would en-
able them to reach the top of the mountain to
the south remained to be determined. They
were all on fire with the fever of exploration;
and they had no doubt that the rich bee-tree
would reward their efforts with new stores of
honey. That night, by means of the canvas
strap, they lowered their ladder over the ledge
until it rested on the mica shelf.
Next morning, bright and early, Philip got
out his small honey-box, and would have taken
the old paralytic rooster along, but for the heavy
implements it was necessary to carry. Besides
their torches in passing through the cavern,
their hands would be full with the ax and a
pail for water, and another in which to bring
back the honey.
It was a clear July day, with a soft south
wind breathing on the mountain; and when the
three soldiers arrived on their brambly half-acre
they found their ladder leaning safely against
the rocks where they had lowered it. After
they had smothered their torches and laid them
by to await their return, they tried the ladder,

919

THE LAST THREE SOLDIERS.

which proved to be too short by about two
rungs to reach the path on the cliff. At first
they thought they should be obliged to return
and make a longer one, but Lieutenant Cole-
man was something of an engineer on fortifica-
tions, and under his directions they fell to work
building a platform of stones and timber, which
afforded the ladder a secure foundation and
raised it safely to the brow of the ledge.
Bromley went ahead with the ax, and Cole-
man and Philip followed with the pails. The
soldiers had brought along their overcoats for
the fight with the bees; and when they put
them on after the rough exercise of handling
the stones, they found them rather oppressive
to their brown shoulders, whose summer cover-
ing usually consisted of one suspender. Brom-
ley was very red in the face as he pushed along
on the rocky path, cutting away a root or
an overhanging limb which obstructed their
passage.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE DESERTED HOUSE.
THE path up which the three soldiers were
climbing was not a path at all in the sense of
its having been worn by the feet of men or ani-
mals. It was at first a narrow ledge, and then
the dry bed of a watercourse, which overflowed
for a few days when the snows melted in the
spring. It was walled in by an outer ledge,
and turned upward at an easy incline which of-
fered no serious obstacle to the progress of the
explorers. The soldiers halted midway, and
took off their oppressive overcoats and wiped
their red faces.
The top of the mountain beyond the south-
ern wall was about half the area of their own
plateau, and to the consternation of the three
soldiers, in the very center of the tract stood a
log-house flanked by some tumbledown sheds !
This unexpected discovery was so startling that
they retreated below the bank for consultation.
They had no doubt that the bees Philip had
seen came from the hives of these people. If
there were a bee-tree at all, they would not be
allowed to cut it. Lieutenant Coleman was
in favor of returning without revealing them-
selves to the strangers. Their curiosity, how-
ever, was so roused, and their desire was so

great to learn something of their neighbors, that
the three soldiers crept back until only their
heads were above the edge of the bank, and
their wondering eyes fixed on the house.
They talked in husky whispers as they stared
through the bushes, expecting every moment to
see some one come out for a pail of water or
an armful of wood.
"There 's a man down there by the shed,"
whispered Philip; and so timid of their kind
had the soldiers become after seven years of
seclusion, during which they had not spoken to
a human being, that they ducked their three
heads in a tremble of excitement. Presently
Bromley looked again, and almost laughed out
loud; for the man was only a stump with some-
thing lying over it that stirred with the wind.
There was no smoke from the chimney; but
it was midway between breakfast and dinner,
and fire was not to be expected at that hour in
midsummer. There were no clothes hung out
to dry, and no growing crops in sight; but
there were small stacks of corn-stalks at differ-
ent points on the field, and these were in every
stage of decay, from the conical heap over-
grown with vines to the flat mound of gray
stalks through which the young chestnuts had
sprouted and grown to a thrifty height. A
forest of hop-vines grew over the eaves of the
house, flaunting their green tendrils in the soft
south wind, and giving an unmistakably home-
like air to the place. As no one appeared after
an hour's watching, it was more than likely
that the family was absent for the day or asleep
inside. The longer the soldiers waited, the
greater their curiosity became, and then they
remembered their scarcity of food, and felt the
gold coins in their pockets. It would be fool-
ish to return without buying something from
these neighbor-people. Their vow was not to
go down from the mountain; and if they neg-
lected this opportunity to supply their wants,
starvation wbuld soon drive them into the Con-
federacy, vow or no vow.
Bromley, as usual, was the first to come to a
decision; and then all three climbed boldly out
upon the bank and prepared to visit the house.'
As they advanced over the grassthey buttoned
their overcoats more closely about their throats,
and jingled the coins in their pockets to keep

920

[SEPT.

THE LAST THREE SOLDIERS.

up their courage. They looked down at their
bare feet and legs, which naturally made them
timid at the prospect of meeting people, and
so, huddled together for support, they crossed
the dry chip dirt, and came around the corner
of the house. The door stood open above the
smooth stone step, and Brom-
ley struck it with his knuckles,
while his comrades waited be-
hind him, feeling instinctively,
in their momentary embarrass-
ment, for their collars and wrist-
bands. If they had been less
embarrassed they would have
noticed the utter absence of
all signs of habitation outside
the house, and that the door
itself was sagging inward from
its rusty hinges. The interior,
darkened by the sliding boards
which closed the windows, gave
forth a musty, earthy smell.
There's nobody lives here,"
said Bromley in his strong, nat-
ural voice, at which Coleman
and Philip were startled into a
small spasm of feeling again for
their shirt-collars; and then, as
he gave a kick to the lurching
door, they dropped their nervous
fingers and followed him in.
Bromley opened one of the win-
dows, which let in but a dim
light because of the thick mat
of hop-vines which had over-
grown it. The first object that
caught the eyes of the soldiers
was a considerable library of
books crowded together on three
shelves above the fireplace.
Philip had his hand at once
on the familiar cover of Uncle Tom's Cabin ";
Bromley took down a faded volume of the Anti-
Slavery Record" for the year 1836; and Cole-
man went outside the door to examine a small
book which bore in gilded letters on the cover,
" The Branded Hand." On the title-page there
was a woodcut of a hand with two S's on the open
palm. The story was of the trial and imprison-
ment of Jonathan Waller, or Walker, at Pensa-
VOL. XXIV.-II6.

cola, Florida; and, a few pages on, the author
was shown undergoing the punishment of the
pillory. This book had been published in 1845,
and Lieutenant Coleman dropped it on the
door-step and hastened back to find something
more modern. In fact, the three soldiers were

S.-. .-
ONI

771

"THE THREE SOLDIERS CREPT BACK."

moved by the same desire to find something -
anything -that had been printed since the
year 1864. So it was with the greatest disgust
that they took from the lower shelf and threw
down, one after another, such ancient history as
" Captain Carnot; or, Twenty Years of an Afri-
can Slaver," 1854; The Alton Riots," by
Henry Ward Beecher, 1838; Abolition a Se-
dition," 1839; Memoir of Rev. Elijah Love-

THE LAST THREE SOLDIERS.

joy," 1838; and Slavery Unmasked," 1856.
There were other curious works on the same
subject, bearing dates equally remote.
On the second shelf there was a mixed col-
lection of thin periodicals in blue, yellow, and
gray covers, such as the Quarterly Anti-
Slavery Magazine," "The Emancipator," and
"The Slave's Friend," and several volumes of
speeches and' papers by William Lloyd Garrison
and Wendell Phillips, bearing date as late as
1858.
The upper shelf was filled with small books
and pamphlets on temperance and prohibition,
not one of which had been published since the
year 1852.
Lieutenant Coleman and Bromley were so
keenly disappointed at finding among so many
books nothing that threw any light on the
state of the country since their arrival on the
mountain, that they were almost tempted to
throw the library into the fireplace and burn it
up by starting a fire with their flints.
The perfect order in which the books had
been arranged was strangely in contrast with
the otherwise wrecked condition of the room.
The excitement of the soldiers on seeing the
library had prevented them from noticing that
the hearthstone had been wrenched from its
original position, and that the earth had been
dug out to some depth beneath it, and thrown
in a heap against the edge of the single bunk
by the south wall. Stones had been pried from
the back of the chimney, and there was abun-
dant evidence that some person had been hunt-
ing for treasure. The rusty spade with which
the digging had been done lay in the fireplace,
where it had been thrown by the baffled rob-
ber. The bed-tick had been ripped open with
a knife, and the straw with which it had been
filled was scattered over the dry earth on the
floor. The blankets and everything of value in
the house had been carried away. It might be
that murder had been committed here as well
as robbery. As there was no stain of blood on
the mattress or on the floor, Lieutenant Cole-
man concluded that the robber was only a cow-
ardly thief who had stolen the property from
the deserted cabin. It would seem, however,
that this man had had some knowledge of the
dead mountaineer which had caused him to

suspect that there was hidden treasure in the
house. Possibly he had found what he sought.
The discovery of the house and its contents
was so startling that the soldiers forgot all about
the bee-tree of which they had come in search.
The absence of everything in the nature of food
forced itself upon their minds, as they felt the
coins in their pockets. There might be corn in
one of the tumbledown old sheds. Both were
sadly decayed and broken by the winds and
storms to which the strong walls and good roof
of the house had not yet yielded. The first
shed contained a small heap of wood and a
rusty ax, and the other, they thought, had been
used as a cow-stall.
The paths were overgrown with grass, which
indicated that years had passed since the place
had been inhabited. The good order in which
the books had been left led the soldiers to
doubt if the place had been visited since the
robber had gone away. It was true that the
library was of a character that would be unde-
sirable in a slave-holding Confederacy; and if
any one had seen it since the robbery, it was
strange that he had not destroyed the objec-
tionable books.
This state of things was so puzzling to Lieu-
tenant Coleman and his comrades that they set
out at once to make the circuit of this small
tract on the mountain-top, which they naturally
believed must be somewhat difficult of access.
There must be a road that led to it. The rob-
ber might have climbed over the rocks, through
some difficult pass, and so might the owner of
the house; but the cow-shed showed that do-
mestic animals had been driven up from the
valley. The western front was the boulder-side
of the mountain, and as unapproachable here
as on their own plateau. After the most care-
ful exploration, the remaining sides were found
to be of the same character as the Cashier's val-
ley side beyond the dividing cliff. This smaller
tract of mountain-top was supported by sheer
ledges which rose above the forest below.
There might be some point in the wall where a
man could scale it with the help of a long lad-
der, but it was evident that no cow had ever
fed in that stall.
It was past noon now, and the soldiers sat
down on a rock in the mild sunlight which

THE LAST THREE SOLDIERS.

poured over the dividing ledge, and talked of
the strange situation.
"There have been human beings here," said
Bromley; "at least two of them: the fellow
who lived in that house, and the robber who
looted it. Now I am not much of a detective,
but it is certainly our business to find out how
they got here and how they got away."
"How the robber got away," suggested
Coleman; "for there is no doubt in my mind
that the man who lived here was his victim."
"Yes," said Philip, "I am certain there was
a murder committed here. Don't you see that
if the murderer had carried off the books, they
would have been evidence against him sufficient
to have convicted him of the crime ? "
This view of Philip's was so plausible that
the others adopted it. They assumed that the
unfortunate victim had been shot in the open
field, and buried where he fell. If the crime
had been committed so long ago that the grass
had found time to take root in the hard paths,
it would have long since overgrown the shallow
grave. Then it occurred to the soldiers, who
had helped to bury the dead on more than one
battle-field, that as time passes a shallow grave
has a way of sinking. The murderer would
have been careful not to raise a mound, and
the very place of his crime should by this time
be plainly marked by a long grassy hollow.
They started at once to search for the grave,
but they were thirsty, not to say hungry, after
their exertions of the morning, and so they
went first to a spring which they had seen near
the head of the path where they had climbed
up. It was a large bubbling spring, and flowed
under the rocks so nearly opposite to where the
branch appeared on the other side that they
knew it was the source of their own supply. It
was not pleasant to think how easily their
neighbor in his lifetime might have turned it
in some other direction, thus stopping the
wheels of their mill, possibly leaving them to
perish of thirst.
After they had lain down on the ground and
drunk from the spring, they turned in the direc-
tion of the lonely house, flattering themselves that
they were, after all, pretty clever detectives. By
putting together the facts, which they had now
determined and proved, they had made a rather

shrewd beginning at the discovery of a crime.
They agreed, as they went along, that nothing
further should be disturbed within or without
the house until they should have unraveled the
history of the foul murder. That was, they be-
lieved, the method observed by the best de-
tectives and coroners. They might not estab-
lish their theory to-day or to-morrow, but they
could go and .come by the new path they had
found, and sooner or later they would force the
secret from the mute objects in the midst of
which the crime had been committed.
As they arrived at this united and enthusi-
astic decision, they were approaching the house
on the opposite side to that which they had
passed on their first coming. The turf was so
firmly rooted here that it was not easy to de-
termine whether there had or had not been a
garden on this side. A thick clump of young
chestnut-trees had grown up since cultivation
had been suspended, and as the three soldiers
turned around these, they came suddenly upon
something which put an end to all their fine-
spun theories.
It was nothing less than a grave with an un-
commonly high round above it, and marked
at the head by a broad slab of oak. Beside
the wild rose-bush which grew out of the matted
grass on the mound, there was another object
which staggered the soldiers more than the
grave itself. On the upper part of the head-
board the following inscription was deeply cut:

HERE
REST THE BONES
OF
HEZEKIAH WALLSTOW
ABOLITIONIST
AND
APOSTLE OF TEMPERANCE
WHO DIED

Here ended the letters, which were cut with a
knife, evidently by the said Hezekiah himself,
with the expenditure of much time and pa-
tience. Below, the inscription was continued
by three lines of rude letters daubed with black
paint, half in written and half in printed letters,
in one ungrammatical and badly spelled sen-
tence:

923

THE LAST THREE SOLDIERS.

Hit war sumwhar betune
April 26 & Juin the 4,
1858.

The "other object," found lying across the
grave,was the skeleton ofthe cow,whose crumpled
horns were attached to the bleached skull, and
whose white ribs provided a trellis for the rose-
bush. Strangest of all strange things in this
mysterious affair, one horn of the skeleton was

a..,

hook:,~
over the
top :f the
slab -i as i.,
ho.i rlie r.at
skuil, r-~ e rse.:i J.
close against -
the headboard THE GRAVE OF THE OLD
on the side op-
posite to the inscription. Evidently the faith-
ful creature had died of starvation during the
winter which followed the death of her master.
By accident or through a singular exhibition of
affection, she had lain down to die on the hard
snow which was banked high above the grave,
and when warm weather came and the snow
melted, the head of the cow had lodged in this
remarkable position.
"Well," said Philip, with a sigh for his pet
theory, whoever he was and however he came
here, his name was Hezekiah Wallstow, and
there was no murder- unless a third man came
to bury him."
"That 's all settled," said Bromley, resign-

edly; "but how about the cow? Did she
come here in a balloon ? "
My dear fellow," said Lieutenant Coleman,
"we have not yet found how the men got here.
When we learn that, it may make all the rest
plain."
Without entering the house again, the soldiers
made a second circuit of the field, examining
carefully every foot of the cliffs. They were
absolutely certain now that there was no road
or path leading to this smaller
pla1.itei except that by which
tlie\ themselves had come;
jnid N et here were the bones
of a full-grown cow and the
runned stall which had at
::ii.e time been her winter
quarters. They next ex-
-.ii nined the heaps of stalks,
Sa iich were sixteen in
number, and
represented that
many harvests;
but the older
S ones were little
more than a thin
hr layer of decayed
litter through
which the grass
and bushes had
Grown up. There
Might have been
many others of
AN OF THE MOUNTAIN. an earlier date,
all traces of
which had long since disappeared. At first it
seemed strange that a cow should have starved,
even in the deepest snow, in the midst of such sur-
roundings. On a closer examination, however,
it appeared that the tops of the two larger
stacks had been much torn, and the stiff stalks
cropped bare of leaves. It was plain enough
that the lean cow had wandered here on the
hard crust of the snow and scattered the stalks
as she fed. Even now these could be seen
lying all about in the grass where they had
lodged when the snow melted. Under one of
the stacks another skull was found, the owner
of which must have died before the cow, or
have been killed for beef. Instead of one, two

[SEPT.

THE LAST THREE SOLDIERS.

domestic animals, then, had cropped the grass
and switched at the flies on this plateau which
was surrounded by inaccessible cliffs. How
did they come there?
By sunset the soldiers were no nearer to a
solution of this difficult problem, and so they
filled their two pails with anti-slavery books
and returned to ponder and wonder in the so-
ciety of the bear and the six sad roosters.
They could sleep but little after a day of such
excitement, and they were scarcely refreshed
by their night's rest when they returned on the
following day to the deserted house. This
time they left their overcoats at home and took
with them a loaf of corn-bread for luncheon,
and the pails, in which they intended to bring
back more books.
They halted again before the oak slab bear-
ing the name of Hezekiah Wallstow, apostle
of temperance," and crowned by the mourn-
ing skull of the cow, as if to assure themselves
of the reality of what they had seen, and then
they walked humbly into the house. They
could think of no guiding clue to start them in
the solution of the problem of the cattle, and
so they weakly yielded to their curiosity about
the books. Bromley cut away the thicket of
hop-vines which darkened the two windows, and
in the improved light they fell to examining
the coarse woodcuts of runaway slaves with
their small belongings tied up in a pocket-hand-
kerchief, which headed certain advertisements
as they were copied in the periodicals. "The
Adventures of Captain Carnot" was a thick
book with numerous illustrations. They hoped
to find an account-book or a diary, but there
was nothing of the sort on the shelves beyond
one or two entries in pencil on a fly-leaf of the
Memoirs of Elijah P. Lovejoy," acknowledg-
ing the receipt of payment for a cask of meal and
a quarter of lamb.
Following their first visit, the three soldiers
returned during four successive days to the de-
serted house and the field surrounding it. By
this time they had carried home the last of the
books by pailsful, making the long journey
through the cave of the bats by torchlight; but
they had arrived no nearer to the solution of
the riddle of the cattle. In fact, so long as
any part of the library remained where they had

found it, they had come to wander aimlessly
in the early morning along the ledges which
upheld the smaller plateau, and then retire to
the cool house to read.
After the books had been removed to their
own side of the dividing cliff, they found it so
hard to leave them that they stayed at home
for a whole week, reading by turns and worry-
ing themselves thin about the bones of the
cattle. They had abundant need at this time
to keep their flesh and spirits, for two more of
the nine sacks of corn had been ground in the
mill, and the prospect for the future was more
dismal than ever. The end of this week of in-
action, however, found the three soldiers in the
early morning again standing by the deserted
house.
Lieutenant Coleman had a systematic, mili-
tary mind, and, now the diverting books were
out of their reach, he stated the problem to his
companions in this direct and concise way:
We know that two cattle have lived and
died on this field."
Undoubtedly," replied Bromley and Philip.
"We have examined three sides of the field,
and found that the cattle could not have come
from either of those directions. Is not that
so ?"
It is absolutely certain," said the others.
"Therefore," continued Lieutenant Coleman,
"they must have come by the fourth side."
This conclusion was admitted to be logical;
but it provoked a storm of argument, in the
course of which the soldiers got wild-eyed and
red in the face. In the end, however, they
consented to trim out the bushes which formed
a thicket along the base of the ledge. It
seemed to Lieutenant Coleman that they must
find some passage here; and, sure enough, not
far from the middle of this natural wall they
came upon a low-browed opening, which pres-
ently narrowed down to a space not much more
than five feet square. The farther end of this
tunnel was closed by a pile of loose earth, which
was spread out at the base, and had every ap-
pearance of having been thrown in from the
other side. The rusty shovel was brought from
the fireplace of the house, and after a few min-
utes of vigorous digging, a ray of light broke
through the roots and grass near the roof of

925

THE LAST THREE SOLDIERS.

the hole. The soldiers gave a wild cheer, and
rushed out into the fresh air to cool off.
That settles it," said Lieutenant Coleman.
"Hezekiah Wallstow was the Old Man of the
Mountain, and after Josiah Woodring buried
him he filled up this passage. The treasure he
was searching for was the very cask of gold we
dug out of the fake grave thanks to the sac-
rilegious behavior of the bear."
But how about the cattle ? said Bromley,
still skeptical.
Easy enough," said Coleman, triumphantly.
"They brought two young calves up the lad-
der."
This unsuspected passage through the ledge
made everything clear. It had evidently been
wide open during all the years the old man had
lived on the mountain. It might have been
screened by bushes, so that any chance visitors,
like the hunters who came over the bridge,
would be easily deceived, and not disposed to
look farther than the ruined cabin and the non-
committal gravestone.
It was not strange that the three soldiers had
never suspected that there was an opening here
through the rocks, for a four-pronged chestnut
had taken firm root in the grassy bank which
Josiah had thrown up, and the old man had
been dead six years when they first arrived on
the mountain. How soon after the burial the
passageway had been closed, it was not so easy
to determine; but numerous hollows which were
afterward found near certain trees and rocks on
the smaller plateau, made it look as if Josiah
had spent a good many moonlight nights in dig-
ging for the treasure before he gave it up alto-
gether.
According to the story told by Andy, the
guide, Josiah himself must have died soon after
his strange patron, and most likely he closed the
entrance to the passage in despair when he felt
his last illness approaching. There was still
much for the soldiers to learn about the motive
of the hermit in burying his surplus gold. The
comforts with which he had surrounded himself
would indicate that he was no miser, and his
devotion to the cause of the slave made it ex-
tremely probable that he had willed his treasure
to some emancipation society, which had not
succeeded in reclaiming it before the war, and

which, for plenty of reasons, had not been able
to secure it since.
After the soldiers had reopened the passage
through the dividing cliff so that they could
pass readily from one plateau to the other, they
suspended further investigation and yielded to
the luxury of reading, which had been denied
them so long. The more they read of this pe-
culiar literature from the library left by Heze-
kiah Wallstow, the more interested they became
in the cause of the slave, who, as they thought,
had been made free on paper by the impotent
proclamation of Abraham Lincoln, only to have
his fetters more firmly riveted than ever by the
success of the Confederate arms.
Among the other books there was one enti-
tled Two-fold Slavery of the United States."
This book had been published in London in
the year 1854, and contained as a frontispiece
a black-and-white map, which, so far west as
it extended, was remarkably like the one which
hung on the wall of their house. Philip shed
new tears over the pathetic lives of Uncle Tom
and little Eva, and Lieutenant Coleman and
George Bromley grew more and more indignant
as they read of the sufferings of the Rev. Elijah
P. Lovejoy, and the self-confessed cruelties of
Captain Carnot. However much the soldiers
were wrought up by these books, it was left to
the mass of pamphlets and periodicals to fill
their hearts with an unspeakable bitterness
toward the institution which the united efforts
of their comrades in arms had failed to over-
throw.
It was evident that the old man had kept up
some sort of communication by mail with the
Boston Abolitionists, and that his agent, Josiah,
had yielded his views, if he had any, to a liberal
supply of gold; for up to the time of his death
he had continued to receive these periodicals.
As long as he received such dangerous publica-
tions, he must have maintained correspondence
with their editors; and the more the soldiers be-
came imbued by their reading with the ideas
which had made a hermit of Hezekiah.Wall-
stow, the more certain they became that he
had willed his money to the cause of abolition,
or perhaps that he only held it in trust from the
first. Otherwise, why should he have adopted
such a crafty method of hiding it from Josiah ?

926

[SEPT.

THE LAST THREE SOLDIERS.

To speculate on the cunning of these two men
became a favorite occupation of Coleman and
Bromley when their eyes were worn out with
reading. They were sure that every fresh lot
of pamphlets had come through the settlement
and up the mountain at the bottom of a cask
of meal. The old man had no mill or other
means of grinding his corn, which he must have
cultivated for his cattle, relying upon Josiah for
most of his food. Undoubtedly the very keg
which the hunters had seen Josiah carrying up
by moonlight, and which they believed was
filled with whiskey, contained seditious literature
enough, if the mountaineers had ever found it,
to have put them to the unpleasant necessity
of hanging the bearer to the nearest limb.
So the soldiers continued to read, to the neg-
lect of every other duty, through the entire
month of August, except that Lieutenant Cole-

man made a brief entry in the diary each morn-
ing, and, when they were out of food, Philip
laid by his book long enough to grind another
sack of the corn. The few ears which had
shown themselves on the plantation had been
eaten green, and the yellow and shriveled stalks
which had escaped the grub at the root, stood
in thin, sickly rows. It was an off-year even
for the chestnuts. When, in addition to this,
it was found in September that the potato-crop
had rotted in the ground, the reading was
brought to a sudden end, and the soldiers
found themselves face to face with a condition
which threatened starvation, and that before
the winter began. They remembered the bee-
tree, and took up the line where Philip had
left it, at the edge of the cliff, only to find that
the bees flew on toward some tree in the forest
below and beyond the plateau.

(To be continued.)

4 -*

-- -. --
-4 -- -~0 0'tnSC

A SAILOR'S YARN.

~_1_1_1 _~__~ ~I __I~CI_

927

^-^&'&.-

i-r;
.tl -Eii-~

;^;

^i'll
. ^.'s'',^i~

THE LITTLE PEACEMAKER.

C-' 11

:i

A WAGON UP A TREE.

By JOHN A. LINDSEY.

SOME years ago, with another young man,
I took a wagon-ride through the Cumberland
Mountains, in southeastern Kentucky. We
carried a camping outfit, our guns, and tackle,
and meant to eke out our provisions by hunting
and fishing.
We soon found that we needed a cover for
our wagon, and an experienced guide. A
farmer at whose house we stayed during the
first night supplied both needs, for he made a
wagon-top of hickory-saplings and a wagon-
sheet, and concluded that he would like to
join our little party. He knew the country,
for he had been one of a band of Confederate
guerrillas who fought in that region during the
war. We found him an excellent guide and a
good story-teller, which made our trip all the
pleasanter. He told us many incidents of the
exciting struggle between the forces of General
Garfield and of Humphrey Marshall, whom
Garfield at length drove from the contested'
ground, saving it to the Union.
Under the guidance of the Squire," as we
called him, we drove through the woods, ad-
miring the enormous poplars, oaks, and wal-
nuts, fishing for perch in the brooks, shooting
such game as we could find, and between times
listening to the Squire's war-stories.
At length we arrived one evening at a house
near the foot of the mountains, having de-
scended by a splendid road that wound round the
side of the mountain on a good grade. Above
and below us rose great trees that awakened
our admiration by their majestic size and the
luxuriant growth of their wide-spread branches.
At the house were four young men of from
sixteen to twenty-two years of age, who, though
they had spent all their lives within fifty miles
Sof a railroad, had never seen one; and, what is
stranger, they had never seen a carriage. They
were delighted with the springs on our wagon,
which seemed to them a marvel of luxury !
VOL. XXIV.-117. 9

Early in the evening we went to bed to en-
joy the sound sleep the day's exercise in the
fresh air brought to us. Glancing out of the
window, for it was a bright moonlight night, we
saw the boys" still gathered about the wagon.
We were soon lost in a dreamless sleep.
About daybreak we were awakened by our
host walking into our room and calling us.
Turning lazily over, we asked what was wanted.
In a hesitating way he said, solemnly:
I have bad news for you."
I sleepily asked, What is it ? "
He shook his head, and said, in a more sol-
emn voice, It 's too bad to tell! "
Startled out of drowsiness, I asked again,
"What is it? "
"Oh," he said, "it's too bad! I have n't
the heart to tell you! "
With visions of guerrillas, shootings, and
what-not dancing through our heads, we sprang
from bed, and, catching him by his arms, de-
manded together, Tell us what it is ? "
His frightened face and shaking form filled
us with further fears, till he gasped:
"Your wagon 's broke! "
Is that all ?"
As we burst into an almost hysterical laugh
at the relief his answer gave, his jaw fell, and
he stared open-mouthed at our ill-timed merri-
ment.
At last we inquired: Where is the wagon "
We were startled by the reply: In the top
of an oak-tree !"
Now we stared at him, wondering if he were
sane; but to all of our questions he answered
only: It 's in the top of an oak-tree! "
We dressed, and started out. At the door we
passed six or eight young men, who looked un-
easy. When we had followed our guide along
the mountain-road for about a mile, he pointed
upward, and there, in the top of an oak-tree, was
our luckless wagon, with the body resting on the

A WAGON UP A TREE.

wide-spread branches, the wheels standing up
in the air, the tires shining brightly in the morn-
ing sun!
How did it get there ?
The "boys" had followed us, and it was from
them we learned the explanation. They told
us that after we had retired, the night before,
leaving them still admiring the wagon, they had

"HE POINTED UPWARD, AND THERE, IN THE TOP OF AN OAK-TI

thought it would be a treat to their friends to
see such a miracle of luxury; and so they had
gone to different neighbors, the nearest of whom
was three miles away, and had brought four
more boys of about their own ages, to share in
their pleasure.
After returning, and fully admiring the wagon,
one enthusiastic boy expressed a wish to have

a ride in it. Instantly all were fired with the
same desire. From wishing, they proceeded to
action. Securing a rope, they dragged the
wagon to the top of the mountain; then, with
the rope tied to the end of the pole to hold it
up, and (as they hoped) to guide the wagon,
all climbed in and started down the road. Go-
ing slowly at first, they began to go faster'and
faster as the wagon
gained momentum.
The well-worn ruts
in the road, cut by
heavily laden wagons,
kept the wheels in
place, though the
," speed grew greater
and greater. Down
the steep mountain-
side they were whirled
with ever increasing
rapidity. Their fears
,"redoubled with the
Speed; for the top,
which to us had been
such a comfort, to
them was a trap,
keeping them from
jumping out, as they
now longed to do;
but the only opening
was in front, and it
would have been
S madness to spring
in front of the
swift-running vehicle.
Holding their breath,
and chilled with fear,
they could but await
with dread the end
of their perilous ride!
REE, WAS OUR LUCKLESS WAGON." It soon came.
At a sharp curve
in the road stood a large stump on the lower
side; this stump caught the end of the pole,
shattering the tough hickory to splinters; the
wagon was raised at the back, and flew out
into the air with the wheels upward. Out
over the steep mountain-side it went with its
living freight, till a giant oak with spreading
arms caught the fallen wagon in its leafy top !

930

[SEPT.

Y,4

IN

- -- --;
k
h~
-ir- -(-,.-p

897-1 A WAGON
The frightened boys, entangled in the cover
of the wagon, which was firmly held in place
by the stout hickory bows, clutching .at what-
ever came to hand, miraculously escaped se-
rious injury. One had his wrist put out of
place, and another sprained his ankle.
As soon as they realized where they were,
they began to slide, one by one, down the tree.
Accustomed to all kinds of climbing, this was
to them an easy matter.
Reaching the road again, they looked out at
the wagon in its queer resting-place, and debated
what was to be done next. They concluded

UP A TREE. 93I
to do the manly thing, and bravely returned to
the house and told of their adventure.
We asked how we were to get the wagon
down. The boys were prepared for that, hav-
ing brought ropes along. They climbed the
tree, pulled up the ropes, took off the wheels
and lowered them; then, cutting away some
branches, they attached the ropes to the body
of the wagon, and slowly lowered it to the
ground. Nor did they leave us until they had
dragged the wagon six miles to a blacksmith's.
They saw it repaired, and then gave us a cheer
as we turned toward home.

"I CARE FOR NOBODY-NO, NOT I!"
(A little word-catch.)

By G. F. J.

WHO cares for nobody cares for none;
And nobody need suppose,
If nobody cares for nobody, one
Need care,-if nobody knows.

If nobody knows that nobody cares -
And nobody cares to know
That nobody. cares for nobody where 's
The good of minding it so!

C Te dlaid Of Hai ault

A Song of

Court

BY EMMA HUNTINGTON NASON.

IS is the blithesome sport and bold
Of which the crowned poet sings;
Jeu te la paume, the pastime old,
"The king of games, the game of kings."

The sport they held of great renown,
In olden days, at Hampton Hall,
When merry monarchs doffed the crown,
And lightly tossed the tennis ball.

C-ennis

897-1 A WAGON
The frightened boys, entangled in the cover
of the wagon, which was firmly held in place
by the stout hickory bows, clutching .at what-
ever came to hand, miraculously escaped se-
rious injury. One had his wrist put out of
place, and another sprained his ankle.
As soon as they realized where they were,
they began to slide, one by one, down the tree.
Accustomed to all kinds of climbing, this was
to them an easy matter.
Reaching the road again, they looked out at
the wagon in its queer resting-place, and debated
what was to be done next. They concluded

UP A TREE. 93I
to do the manly thing, and bravely returned to
the house and told of their adventure.
We asked how we were to get the wagon
down. The boys were prepared for that, hav-
ing brought ropes along. They climbed the
tree, pulled up the ropes, took off the wheels
and lowered them; then, cutting away some
branches, they attached the ropes to the body
of the wagon, and slowly lowered it to the
ground. Nor did they leave us until they had
dragged the wagon six miles to a blacksmith's.
They saw it repaired, and then gave us a cheer
as we turned toward home.

"I CARE FOR NOBODY-NO, NOT I!"
(A little word-catch.)

By G. F. J.

WHO cares for nobody cares for none;
And nobody need suppose,
If nobody cares for nobody, one
Need care,-if nobody knows.

If nobody knows that nobody cares -
And nobody cares to know
That nobody. cares for nobody where 's
The good of minding it so!

C Te dlaid Of Hai ault

A Song of

Court

BY EMMA HUNTINGTON NASON.

IS is the blithesome sport and bold
Of which the crowned poet sings;
Jeu te la paume, the pastime old,
"The king of games, the game of kings."

The sport they held of great renown,
In olden days, at Hampton Hall,
When merry monarchs doffed the crown,
And lightly tossed the tennis ball.

C-ennis

. THE MAID OF HAINAULT.

The game that bluff King Henry played
With his imperial German guest;
Sharp points in statecraft, too, they made,
And kept the score with royal zest.

The game beloved long
ages since
In those chiv.:in:c r.Llnm
afar,
By Norman Knilit. arnd
Orleans Prin-e,-
And white- plumed
Henry of Niaarre.

Then ladies, splendid in ai rrray,
Where noble ii.mimpions cro:-ed the net
Did not disdain to witlh tlie pl:'y,
Or wear their tre4-:e- c ,..

And from the heart of Hainault came
A maid, whose praises rang afar,
Who won from king and prince their fame,
In stately halls of Saint Lazare.

The fair Margot! We see her yet,
As fancy still the picture weaves,

With pearls around her white throat set,
And silken puffs upon her sleeves.

Faint in our ears, the plaudit rings,
Of old so sweet; yet still we know
"The king of games, the game of kings,"
Once had its queen-the fair Margot!

~-~-~---

i---i;---
r
h

-

~
.
~.~~"
i'
11111
.~9~ 1
1. .

am-GuLgaao

So odd a ballad as that sung
by a boy who 'd run away.
He thought he 'd love the life at
sea, but soon the poor lad found
There were, for men, advantages
about the solid ground."

I MET a friendly Sea-gull one day upon the
shore.
We sat to watch the sunset, and hear the
billows roar.
The Sea-gull perched upon a wreck.
Good day to you," I said.
He looked as if he 'd like to smile, but
had to bow instead.
"You 've seen some curious things," said I,
"while skimming o'er the sea.
This is vacation-time, you know; come,
spin a yarn for me."

The Sea-gull stretched his snowy wing be-
fore he said a word,
And then he laughed, as Sea-gulls laugh,
and said : "I 've often heard
Most curious things in many climes; but
never, till to-day,

S"Why won't you sing the song?" I
asked.
? "All right," said he; "I will."
And thus he sanig the song for me a little
through his bill:

RAN AWAY TO SEA.

I am a merry sailor-boy,
With a yo-heave-ho, belay!
The dark-blue sea it is my joy,
With a heave-ho, haul away.
Upon the main top gallant yard,
With a yo-ho, 'vast, ahoy,
I stand and furl the halyards hard.
I am a sailor-boy.

At least that 's what I mean to do,
With a yo-heave-ho, belay!
When once I 'm entered in the crew,
For I 've just joined to-day.
Just now, whene'er the ship does heave,
With an Oh, my there she goes!
I 'm tempted to resign and leave;
My head unsteady grows.

Oh, Captain, let me go ashore,
No matter what the cost.
I '11 promise to return no more,
I 'm sure the ship is lost!
My father keeps a hardware-shop--
I wish I were at home!
Why can't they make this rolling stop?
Why did I ever roam?

They say the pilot still is here,
Oh, joy! I can return.

IT 9 z Boy

THE BOY AND THE SEA-GULL.

I must go now, or cruise a year,
No more I wish to learn.
They 've lowered me into the boat,
Good-by now, shove away!
For life ashore I cast my vote
For the solid earth-Hurray!

" That 's very sweet," was my remark, as soon
as he was through.'
" I 'm glad you 're pleased," the Gull re-
plied. Now won't you sing one, too ? "
So, not to be outdone, you see, by any liv-
ing bird,
I thought awhile, then raised my voice, and
this is what he heard:

A GULL ABOARD.

I am a gull, a young Sea-gull,
Whose home is on the breeze;
I go where ocean steamships sail,
I fly where'er I please.

I laugh at man, who dreads the sea-
I make him feed me, too.
Just out of reach I skim the air;
There 's nothing I
can't do!

9,

/r

He flings a dainty bit of meat,
I swoop and seize it -so!
A hook inside has caught my beak -
Oh, sailor, let me go!

And now I 'm hauled aboard the ship-
I never learned to walk!
I 'm like a goose a waddling goose!
My voice is but a squawk!

The line has broken -and I 'm free!
I float once more in air!
To meddle with the bait again
I 'm sure I '11 never dare.

My song was done. The Sea-gull turned
on me a solemn eye.
I asked him how he liked my song. He
made me no reply,
But spread his wings and shot away till on
the distant rim,
Where sky met sea, a faint white spot was
all I saw of him.

But if he must poke fun at boys who run
away to sea,
Why should n't I poke
fun at gulls?
That 's what oc-
S ,curred to me.

Tudor Jenks.

/ /

i
I, -:

///~

/,s. /

(-~,~ .- ., '.4 ..

1./-- -= --I-

I

A SOAP-BUBBLE AND ITS SECRETS.

By JACOB F. BICHER.

MANY readers of ST. NICHOLAS have spent
hours over those delicately colored wonders, the
soap-bubbles. Most of us have wondered how
to explain their beauty and form; or, while idly
blowing these balloons, we have connected
them with some fairy fancy, and have been led
to think of charms and enchantments. Many
of us believe still, as we believed when children,
that no gem surpasses a soap-bubble in beauty;
and one cannot help feeling really sorry when
each exquisite plaything bursts.
Nor do children alone mourn over their
short existence. Sir Isaac Newton, who sought
out the secret that a falling apple hinted, said of
the soap-bubble that a man or child who could
blow one that would last would confer a great
benefit upon mankind. You will wonder at
this saying, but the truth of it will soon be ap-
parent.
No one yet has been able to make a soap-bub-
ble that will not burst, but by care we can make
one that lasts for some time. Its length of life
will depend largely upon the mixture used in
blowing it, and the care we take in protecting
it from drafts. Perhaps some of you do not
know how to make a good soap-bubble mix-
ture, so I will give you directions for preparing
one.
Put into a pint-bottle two ounces of best
white Castile soap, cut into thin shavings, and
fill the bottle with cold water which has been
first boiled and then left to cool. Shake well
together, and allow the bottle to stand until
the upper part of the solution is clear. Decant
now of this clear solution two parts, and
add one part of glycerin, and you will have
a soap-bubble mixture very much like one
suggested by Professor J. P. Cook of Harvard
College.
Some of you may wonder why bubbles can-
not be blown from water alone. It is because
the particles' do not possess sufficient attraction

for one another to form a film. Mysteriously,
the soap increases this attraction, even if the
quantity be as small as one-hundredth part of
the solution. We add the glycerin to make
the film more gorgeous by bringing about a
greater play of colors. Bear in mind that a
carefully prepared mixture will save you much
disappointment.
The solution now being at hand, we use the
ordinary clay tobacco-pipe in blowing. Al-
ways use a new one, for one in which tobacco
has been smoked is poisoned. With a little
practice, and a moderate amount of patience,
bubbles measuring eight or ten inches in diam-
eter may be produced, and even larger ones if
the lungs be refilled. The pipe, of course,
should be held steadily, and the breath forced
into the bubble evenly. In order to watch a
bubble carefully, we may wish to support it in
some way. A common table-goblet will make
a good stand if its edge is first dipped into
melted paraffin, or well soaped, which prevents
it from cutting into the film.
Now as to the soap-bubble being a sphere.
We find that all bubbles and drops are round.
All liquids, when free to act, tend to take on
the spherical form. So it is with milk when
it falls upon a buttered plate, a rain-drop when
it descends, or the dew that glistens so beau-
tifully in the morning sun. In each case the
drop is composed of tiny particles that are
equally attracted by a central particle, and as
they cling regularly around it give the drop
a round shape. Your school-books have told
you that this attraction that causes all things
to try to come together is gravitation. Here
is a pretty little stanza written by Samuel Rogers,
teaching this truth:

That very law which molds a tear,
And bids it trickle from its source,
That law preserves the earth a sphere
And guides the planets in their course.

A SOAP-BUBBLE AND ITS SECRETS.

In the case of the soap-bubble the case is re-
versed. The particles of air within press with
equal force outward upon the film in all di-
rections, producing the curved surface and
making a hollow sphere. If the room is free
from drafts, the bubble will be a perfect one,
and will teach us the principles that underlie
the making of a sphere. This perfect form,
however, is seen only when the bubble floats.
When resting upon the goblet, it appears very
much like an orange that is, an oblate sphe-
roid, the true shape of the earth. Putting it
into the simplest language, the form of a bub-
ble is due to the holding together of the soap
solution, to the outward pushing of the air
within and the resistance of the film.
If the air in the room is moderately cool, the
bubble will float like a tiny balloon. The mouth
and lungs at all times having a temperature of
nearly one hundred degrees, the air blown into
the toy bubbles is warmer, and consequently
lighter than the air which surrounds them;
therefore they float, and it is their lightness and
grace that, with their beauty, give them such
a charm. As soon as the air within the bubble
cools, it slowly sinks till it reaches the floor, and
the jar of its contact usually ruptures the film.
The extreme thinness of the bubble is indeed
wonderful. It is estimated that the film in
some places is only one three-millionths of an
inch in thickness. Probably few of us can con-
ceive of stich thinness. Let me express it in
another way. The Old and the New Testament
contain some three millions of letters. Now
one three-millionth is such a part of an inch as
the first letter of the Bible is a part of the sum
of all of its letters.
The bubble, however, is not of equal thickness
at all points, and it is for this reason that it has
the various colors. For instance, wherever the
film is orange-red it measures about three one-
millionths of an inch; where it is blue, eighty
one-millionths of an inch; and at a point where
lemon-yellow is prominent, about twenty one-
millionths of an inch. Perhaps you wonder why
the colors change from one part of the soap-

bubble to another. This is because the film
of the soap-bubble evaporates and grows thin-
ner, but unequally so at different portions. A
greenish blue with a pale rose-red spot near it
indicates an extreme thinness, and at such a
point the film is ready to give way at the least
jar.
You will be glad to know the source of the
beautiful colors. Every one is delighted with
Them, even if not interested by the.explana-
tion of their origin. We may say that they
come from the light. Light gives color to all
objects, but not exactly as it does to the soap-
bubble. White light from the sun can be
broken into the seven colors which we have seen
in the rainbow. In that instance the raindrops
separate it into its parts. A glass prism will do
the same, as you may prove by looking through
a glass pendant from a hanging lamp. When
the light reaches the surface of the soap-bubble
a part is reflected from it, and we see images
on its surface as if it were a curved mirror.
Another portion of the light, however, enters
the film and is separated so that a part of the
seven colors are thrown into the bubble, and
we can see them at various portions of the op-
posite surface. Another part of the light, after
being broken by the film, is reflected by its in-
ner surface back to. our eyes, so that we see
colors at the point where the light enters.
After you have observed these things to
which I have referred, you may learn very
many more by consulting a work on physics
and studying light and the laws that govern it.
If you care to, you can study the composition
of water, soap, and air by reading of these sub-
stances in some work on chemistry. Such a
simple line of investigation as the study of a
mere soap-bubble has often awakened the natu-
ral liking for some particular group of studies,
and thereby started a boy or girl properly upon
a life work.
It is our supposed familiarity with common
things that frequently robs them of the study
and interest that might otherwise be profitably
bestowed upon them.

936

/

.. FLOWER, oIF. T LII

,,,;. Fl oFTO H FIG
bF'r

By MARY HALLOCK FOOTE.

THERE is a garden on a hill-slope between
the snows of the Sierra Nevada and the warm,
rich valleys of the coast. It is in that region
of Northern California where the pine-belt and
the fruit-belt interlace. Both pine and fruit
trees grow in that mountain garden, and there,
in the new moon of February, six young Al-
mond trees burst into flower.
The Peach and Plum trees in the upper gar-
den felt a glow of sympathy with their forward
sisters of the south, but the matronly Cherry
trees shook their heads at such an untimely
show of blossoms. They foresaw the trouble
to come.
The Almond trees," they said, will lose
their fruit-buds this year, as they did last and
the year before. Poor things, they are so emo-
tional! The first whisper of spring that wan-
ders up the .foot-hills sets them all aflame; out
they rush, with their hearts upon their sleeves,
for the frosts to peck at. But what can one
do? If you try to reason with them, 'Our
parents and grandparents always bloomed in
VOL. XXIV.-118. 9

February,' they will tell you, and they did not
lose their fruit-buds.'"
"The Almond trees come of very ancient
stock," said the Normandy Pear, who herself
bore one of the oldest names in France. In-
herited tendencies are strong in people of good
blood. One of their ancestors, I have heard,
was born in a queen's garden in Persia, a thou-
sand years ago; and beautiful women, whose
faces the sun never shone upon, wore its blos-
soms in their hair. And, as you probably
know, their forefathers are spoken of in the
Bible."
"A number of persons, my dear, are spoken
of in the Bible who were no better than they
should be," said the eldest Apple tree. "We
go back to the 'Mayflower'; that is far
enough for us; and none of our family ever
dreamed of putting on white and pink in Feb-
ruary. It would be flying in the face of Provi-
dence."
"White and pink are for Easter," said the
Pear tree, whose grandparents were raised in a

FLOWER OF THE ALMOND AND FRUIT OF THE FIG.

bishop's garden. "I should not wish to put my
blossoms on in Lent."
The Apple tree straightened herself stiffly.
"We do not keep the church fasts and
feasts," she said; "but every one knows that
faith without works is dead. What are these
vain blossoms that we put forth for a few days
in the spring, without the harvest that comes
after?"
Now the Apple tree is going to preach,"
said the light-hearted Peach tree, stepping on
the Plum tree's toes. If we must have preach-
ing, I had rather listen to the Pines. They, at
least, have good voices."
"Those misguided Almonds are putting out
all their strength in fleshly flowers," the Apple
tree continued; "but how, when the gardener
comes to look for his crop ? We all know, as
the Cherry trees said, what happened last year
and the year before. It cannot be expected
that the Master of the Garden will have pa-
tience with them forever."
"The Master of the Garden Four young
Fig trees who stood apart and listened in sor-
rowful silence to this talk of blossoms, repeated
the words with fear and trembling.
How long-how much longer," they asked
themselves, will he have patience with us ? "
It was now the third spring since they had
been planted, but not one of the four sisters
had yet produced a single flower. With deep,
shy desire they longed to know what the flower
of the fig might be like. They were all of one
age, and they had no parent tree to tell them.
They knew nothing of their own nature or race
or history. Two seasons in succession, a strange,
distressful change had come upon them. They
had felt the spring thrills, and the sap mounting
in their veins; but instead of breaking out into
pink and white flowers, like the happy trees
around them, ugly little hard green knobs had
crept out of their tender bark, and these had
swollen and increased in size till they were
bowed with the burden of their deformity.
Fruit this could not be, for they had seen that
fruit comes from a flower, and no sign of a blos-
som or a bud had ever been vouchsafed them.
When inquisitive hands came groping and feel-
ing of the purple excrescences upon their limbs,
they covered them up in shame, and tried to

hide them with their broad green leaves. In
time they were mercifully eased of this affliction;
but then the frosts came, and the winter's dull
suspense, and then another spring's awakening
to hope and fear.
"Perhaps we were not old enough before,"
they whispered encouragement to one another.
" Blossoms no doubt are a great responsibility.
Had we had them earlier, we might have been
foolish and brought ourselves to blame, like
the Almond trees. Let us not be impatient;
the sun is warm, but the nights are cold. Do
not despair, dear sisters; we may have flowers
yet. And when they do come, no doubt they
will be fair enough to reward us for our long
waiting."
They passed the word on softly, even to the
littlest Fig tree sister that stood in rocky ground
close to the wall that shut the garden in from
the pine-wood at its back. The Pines were
always chanting and singing anthems in the
wood; but though the sound was beautiful, it
oppressed the little Fig tree, and filled her with
melancholy. Moreover, it was very dry in the
ground where she stood, and a Fig tree must
have drink.
"Sisters, I am very thirsty," she cried.
Have you a little a very little water that
you could spare ? "
The sister Fig trees had not much of anything
to spare; they were spreading and growing
fast, and their own soil was coarse and stony.
The water that -had so delicious a sound in
coming seemed to leak away before their
eager rootlets had more than tasted it; still
they would have shared what they had, could
they have passed it to their weaker sister. But
the water would not go uphill; it ran away
down, instead, and the Peach and Plum and
Pear trees grew fat with what the Fig trees
lacked.
"Courage, little sister! they called to the
fainting young tree by the wall. "The morning
sun is strong, but soon the shadow of the wood
will reach us. Cover thy face and keep a good
heart. When our turn shall come, it will be thy
turn too; one of us will not bloom without the
others."
It was only February, and the Almond trees
stood alone, without a rival in their beauty.

938

[SEPT.

FLOWER OF THE ALMOND AND FRUIT OF THE FIG.

They stood in the proudest place in the garden,
in full view both from the road and from a
high gallery that ran across the front of the
house where the Master of the Garden lived.
The house faced the west, and whenever the
people came out to look at the sunset they
admired the beauty of the Almond trees,
with their upright shoots, tipped and starred
with luminous blossoms, against the deep, rich
colors in the west; and when the west faded,
as it did every evening, a lamp on a high
post by the gate, bigger and brighter than the
brightest star, was set burning--"for what
purpose," thought the Almond trees, "but to
show our beauty in the night?" So they
watched through the dark hours, and felt
the intoxication of the keen light upon them,
and marveled at their own shadows on the
grass.
They were somewhat troubled because so
many of their blossoms were being picked;
but the tree that stood nearest the house win-
dows rose on tiptoe, and, behold! each gathered
spray had been kept for especial honor. Some
were grouped in vases in the room, or massed
against the chimneypiece; others were set in
a silver bowl in the center of a white table,
under a shaded lamp, where a circle of people
gazed at them, and every one praised their
delicate, sumptuous beauty.
But peepers as well as listeners sometimes
learn unpleasant truths about themselves.
Are n't we picking too many of these blos-
soms ?" asked the lady of the house. "I 'm
afraid we are wasting our almond crop."
"Almond trees will never bear in this climate,"
said the Master of the Garden. Better make
the most of the blossoms while they last. The
frost will catch them in a week or two."
So the mother and children gathered the
blossoms recklessly -to save them, they said.
Then a snow-flaw came, and those that had
been left on the trees were whiter than ever for
one day, and the next day they were dead.
Each had died with a black spot at its core,
which means the death that has no resurrection
in the fruit to come.
After the snow came rain and frost, and snow
again. The white Sierra descended and shook
its storm-cloak in the face of laughing Spring,

and she fled away downward into the warm
valleys. Alas, the flatterer! But the Almond
trees alone had trusted her, and again their
hope of fruit was lost.
Did we not say so ? muttered the Apple
tree between her chattering teeth. She was
the most crabbed and censorious of the sisters,
and by her talk of fruit one might have sup-
posed her own to be of the finest quality; but
this was not the case, and the gardener only
that year had been threatening, though she did
not know it, to cut off her top and graft her
with a sweeter kind.
The leaves of the Almond tree are not beauti-
ful, neither is her shape a thing to boast of.
When Spring did at last come back to stay, the
Almonds were the plainest of all the trees.
Their blossoms were like bright candles burned
to the socket, that would light no more; their
"corruptible crown" of beauty had passed to
other heads. No one looked at them, no one
pitied them, except the Fig trees, who wondered
which had most cause to mourn: they, who
had never had a blossom, or the Almond trees
who had risked theirs and lost them all before
the time of blossoms came.
The Fig trees' reproach had not been taken
away. While every tree around them was
dressed in the pride of the crop to come, they
stood flowerless and leafless, and burned with
shame through all their barren shoots.
When the Master of the Garden came with
his children to look at them, they hung their
heads and were afraid.
"When will they blossom like the other
trees," the children asked, and what sort of a
flower will they bear ?"
The Fig trees held their breath to hear the
answer.
A fig tree has no flower like the other fruit
trees," said the Master of the Garden. "Its
blossom is contained in the fruit. You cannot
see it unless you cut open the budding figs, and
then you would not know it was a flower."
"What is the use of having blossoms if no
one ever sees them ?" one of the children
asked.
What is the use of doing good, unless we
tell everybody and brag about it beforehand ? "
the father questioned, smiling.

FLOWER OF THE ALMOND AND FRUIT OF THE FIG.

I thought the best way was- you know -
to do it in secret, said the child.
That's what we are taught; and some per-
sons do good in that way, and cover it up as if
they were ashamed of it. And so the Fig tree
does n't tell anybody when it is going to bear
fruit."
The Fig trees had heard their doom. To the
words that followed they had not listened; nor
would they have understood much more of it
than the child of its father's meaning.
"What is this he calls our fruit ? they asked
each other in fear and loathing. Was that
our fruit, those green and purple swellings;
that unspeakable weight of ugliness ? Will it
come, year after year, and shall we never have
a flower? The burden without the honor, with-
out the love and praise, that beauty brings:
that is the beginning and the end with us.
Little sister, thou art happier than we, for soon
thy burden-bearing will be done. Uncover thy
head and let the sunbeams slay thee, for why
should such as we encumber the ground!"
Trees that grow in gardens may have long
memories, and nature teaches them a few
things by degrees, but they can know little of
what goes on in the dwellings or the brains
of men, or why one man should plant and
call it good, and later another come and dig
up the first man's planting. But so it hap-
pened in this garden.

The stone which the builders rejected, the same was
made the head of the corner.

"These little Fig trees, with their strange,
great leaves -why were they put off here by
themselves, I wonder? A lady spoke, who had
lately come to the cottage. She was the wife
of the new Master of the Garden. I wish we
had them where we could see them from the
house," she said. "All the other trees are
commonplace beside them."
They are not doing well here at all," said
her husband. "This one, you see, is nearly
dead. They must be transplanted, or we shall
lose them all."
Then followed talk which set the Fig trees
a-tremble with doubt and amazement and
joy. They were to be moved from that arid
spot-where, they knew not, but to some place

of high distinction! They the little aliens
who had stood nearest the wall and thirsted for
a bare existence were to be called to the
front of the garden and have honor in the pres-
ence of all! The despised burden which they
had called their deformity they heard spoken of
as the rarest fruit of the garden, and themselves
outvalued beyond all the other trees: for that
having so little, they had done so much.
Beauty, too, was theirs, it appeared, as well
as excellence, though they could scarcely be-
lieve what their own ears told them; and they
had a history and a family as old as those of
the Almond tree, who can remember nothing
that did not happen a thousand years ago, and
so has never learned anything in the present.
But the Fig trees would have been deeply
troubled at their promotion, could they have
known what it was to cost their neighbors the
Almond trees.
-"Two we will keep for the sake of their
flowers; but the others must go and give room
for the Figs." So said the new Master, and so it
was done. The unfruitful Almond trees were
dug up and thrown over the wall all but the
two whom their sisters had ransomed with their
lives; for beauty has its price in this world,
and there must be some one to pay it.
When another spring came round, it was the
little Fig tree that stood in the bright corner
where the splendor of the road-lamp shone
upon its leaves all night. Its leaves were now
as broad as a man's outspread hand, and its
fruit was twice the size it had been the season
before.
Its sister trees stood round and interlaced
their boughs about it.
Lean on us, little one," they said, regarding
it with pride.
"But you have your own load to bear."
"We scarcely feel it," said the happy trees.
This was true; for the burden that had
seemed beyond their strength when their hearts
were heavy with shame and despondency, they
could bear up lightly now, since they had
learned its meaning and its worth.
The new Master's children were so full of
the joy of spring in that mountain garden-
for they, too, like the little Fig trees, had been
transplanted from arid ground--they had no

[SEPT.

940

FLOWER OF THE ALMOND AND FRUIT OF THE FIG.

words of their own in which to utter it. So song as old, almost, as the oldest garden
their mother taught them some words from a that was ever planted.

IN the great city of Constantinople there are
very many things which are strange and wonder-
ful to the traveler, from wherever he may come;
but I doubt very much whether any of the street
sights of this city on the Bosphorus would so
interest the readers of ST. NICHOLAS, if they
care for animals at all, as the spectacle of its
street dogs. I say street dogs, because there
are hardly any others to be seen in Constan-
94:

tinople than these poor, neglected waifs who
lie on the rough pavement or wander about
day and night. It is a rare sight indeed to see
the well-bred and well-behaved English fox-ter-
rier, or bull-terrier, following his master down
the street, holding his head very high, and
plainly proud of having a master and of being
so clean and well kept.
If the poor native dogs, who follow en-

THE STREET DOGS OF CONSTANTINOPLE.

viously these disdainful foreigners with their
sad, hungry eyes, could but talk to us, I am
sure that they would tell us that they, too,
would like to have the bright collars and
warm blankets that these strangers wear, just
as poor5 ragged boys envy the boy who has a
warm coat for winter; but they would also
tell us, I think, that there is a story among
them of which the very wise old dogs, who
know the city well, are very fond of informing
any one who will listen. Long, long ago, they
say their ancestors too wore coats coats of the
finest silk, beautifully embroidered. That, how-
ever, was when all people were differently
dressed, and there were only Greeks in Con-
stantinople, and no people from Europe to be
seen on the streets. Nowadays the Turks think
otherwise about the dogs, and I feel sure that
these poor little wanderers miss something more
than blankets and clean brass collars-the
kind words and loving treatment which most
American dogs receive. You can tell that from
the look in their eyes when you speak to some
tired out old fellow lying on the hard pave-
ment, or play with the jolly little puppy across
the way, who is just waiting for some one, man
or dog, to frolic with. It is a nicer look and a
much more grateful one than you get when you
throw them a piece of bread.
The reason why there are so few dogs who
have homes and masters is not hard to find. It
is because the Turks have a queer idea it is
part of their queer religion that dogs are such
unclean animals that they must never be al-
lowed to enter a house. On the street, how-
ever, they feed them and even pet them; and
when a man knows that he has done something
wrong, he will often try to make up for it by
feeding all the dogs he can find. Sometimes
when rich Turks die they leave sums of money
to be spent in feeding the street dogs, just as in
America people leave money to the Society for
the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. The
Turks never strike or hurt a dog; so if, as some-
times happens in Constantinople, you see a man
kicking or beating some poor, howling animal,
you may be very sure that he is a Greek or an
Armenian. Nor do the Turks ever kill va-
grant dogs, but think it right to allow them
to exist as best they can.

So there have come to be in the streets of
Constantinople hundreds and hundreds of wolf-
like dogs, about the size of small setters or
pointers, but different from them in that they
have narrow, long heads. Yellow dogs, black
dogs, brown dogs, and white dogs, you see
them everywhere on the sidewalks, in the
gutters, on the doorsteps, under the carriages,
in every comer or hole into which a dog
can creep and curl himself up into a round
bunch. All day long they lie huddled up or
stretched out on their sides, fast asleep, no mat-
ter how much noise goes on about them. In the
busiest business streets they lie by twos and threes
in the middle of the sidewalk, where hundreds
of patient people step over them, or go around
them, and never think of making them get out
of the way. In the side streets and small
.squares there are often assemblages of twenty
or twenty-five sleeping in the greatest peace
and harmony, until some dog from another
street ventures in, when there is at once a great
deal of barking, and sometimes severe fighting;
for even if these dogs have no homes, they
have certain districts, or places, which they con-
sider their own, and will permit no one not be-
longing to their particular set to enter. Thus
the street of butchers in Pera, the nicest quarter
of Constantinople, has some twenty or more
dogs who are always to be found there. I saw
two dogs lying day after day in front of one of
the great banks; and one fond mother-dog
brought up four puppies in an uncovered box
at the gateway of the British Embassy.
Although many of these patient animals are
lame, and sick with mange or some other sickness
to which dogs are liable, though some have no
tails and others but one ear, it can at least be
said that the majority look fat and hearty, as
if they had plenty to eat. As soon as it is dark
and the shops begin to close, the dogs com-
mence to wander in search of food. The
butcher, shutting up his shop, throws into the
street the bits of meat which fell from the clea-
ver, and the restaurant or coffee-room keeper
does the same with the bits of vegetables and
bread he has left over. In the early morning
the house-servants put the kitchen sweepings
and the ash-barrels outside for the ash-carts,
and there are always dogs on hand at once to

THE STREET DOGS OF CONSTANTINOPLE.

search the barrels for a stray bone. That is
not quite the kind of food that we should like
our pets to eat, but still it helps these canines
to keep alive and even well and hearty. Often,

dog or two nosing about the hydrant, and
licking up the few drops that leak out.
The instinct which enables these poor tramps
to tell time is the most astonishing thing about

FEEDING THE STREET DOGS.

too, some kind-hearted Turk or European will
regularly give them water to drink, and a bone
or a bit of bread every morning. Water is
harder for them to find than food; so when
the streets are watered there is sure to be a

these dogs I mean their being on hand, day
after day, at regular hours when the scraps are
thrown out, and their never being much too
early or too late. The superintendent of one of
the great railway lines ending in Constantinople

[SEPT.

THE STREET DOGS OF CONSTANTINOPLE.

945

told me the most remarkable case of this I
have yet heard. The Oriental Express, the
famous train from Paris to Constantinople, ar-
rives, it seems, three times a week, at a certain
hour in the afternoon. When the train comes
in there are always many dogs ready to receive
it. Before the passengers have had time to get
out, the dogs jump into the carriages and search
everywhere under the seats and in the corners
for the scraps of luncheon left by the passen-
gers; and when they have found all the pieces
they go away. The remarkable thing is that
they never come at any time except when the
Oriental Express is due; that they never make
a mistake in the day, and always remember that
between Friday and Monday there are two
days, and not one. They pay no attention to
local trains because little or no food is left in
them owing to the short rides the passengers
take Exactly this same knowledge of the
time-table and of the difference between local
and long-distance trains has been noticed at
the station of the Asiatic railways in Scutari,
across the Bosphorus.
At night-time there is a great deal of noise
and barking in the streets, so that people who
visit Constantinople often have trouble in get-
ting to sleep. Indeed, there is often likely to
be considerable canine discussion when two or
three hungry dogs find the same bone at once.
Sometimes this discussion goes beyond the I
got here first." No, you did n't; it 's my
bone! style of talking, and what follows is
often the reason why some dogs have but three
serviceable legs, or noses that are torn and
scratched. When morning comes they are
back in their old places, or trying what seems
like a soft stone on the sidewalk of the next
street, ready for another day's sleep from the
mother who has been looking for food for her
puppies, to the gay young dogs who would
have you believe that they have been all about
the town in a few hours, and been in a great
many desperate fights indeed.

In summer, when the sidewalks become hot
they look for shady places, regretting that dogs
are so very attractive to the flies, which relent-
lessly torment them. Unlike many of our dogs,
they are never troubled by muzzles, even in
the hottest weather, cases of madness among
them being rare indeed, and they never seem to
attack people, however often they attack each
other. It is in winter, however, that they suffer
most, when the streets are covered with snow
or when they are deep with mud. Then their
thick, shaggy coats give little protection from
the cold, and are heavily matted with dirt and
constantly wet. They snuggle up against one
another more than ever, the mother does her
best to keep the little ones warm, and every
dog protects his nose from the cold by covering
it with his paws or by putting it against his
friend and neighbor. Of course they don't
sleep all the time, and when they are awake
I 'm sure they talk a great deal to each other.
The old dogs whine about the hard times, and
say that things were different when they were
young, and shake their heads when they add
that they don't know what is to become of
them but that; you know, is the privilege of
all old folks. The younger dogs, if they listen
at all, cock their ears and wink at each other
in the most disrespectful manner; for they feel
perfectly sure that they will be able to find
their breakfast and lunch and dinner, all in one,
as soon as the sun goes down. If the times
are hard, they say, there are still a great many
who succeed in getting so fat and lazy that they
hardly deign to get out of the way of the horse-
cars. And the proof that the young dogs are
right is that if you could go to Constantinople
and take a walk down one of the main streets
with me, we could count more than two hundred
and fifty dogs in twenty minutes; and I can
promise you that two hundred and forty-nine
and a half out of that number would undoubt-
edly be sound asleep. The other half would
be wagging its tail.

VOL. XXIV.- 119.

1897.].-

MISS NINA BARROW.

BY FRANCES COURTENAY BAYLOR.

[This story was begun in the February number.]

CHAPTER XII.
LAST DAYS WITH THE AUBREYS.
MRS. AUBREY'S dressing-room was the visi-
ble center of the *establishment, and in it she
was wont to sit, calm and capable, holding
every thread of the web of the daily life in one
pair of small hands. She was a woman who
could have governed a kingdom, so great was
her administrative ability, and she did govern
her woman's kingdom with infinite tact and
success. To see her when the housekeeper
came with her bills, or Fraulein with reports
or complaints of the children, or the nurse with
her budget about the babies, or the servants
with their grievances, or the children with their
squabbles, or the boys with their lessons, was
to see what a mistress and mother can be-
ordering, arranging, contriving, harmonizing,
suggesting, pacifying; firm yet very kind, calm
but never indifferent as to what was said or
done; holding her scales like a judge for jus-
tice, loving but never weakly indulgent; pro-
viding for the comfort and happiness of every
member of the great household, from the scul-
lion up to the master; thoughtful, unselfish, "a
perfect woman, nobly planned." And it was
wonderful what she accomplished. She found
time to do a great deal of mothering, with all
her religious, social, and charitable duties. She
took an active part in the kindergarten methods
of Fraulein Hochzeiter, a clever and most en-
thusiastic pupil of Frhbel and Pestalozzi. She
read aloud to her children an hour every even-
ing.
She examined into the children's progress in
their studies, and every Saturday gave them a
little feast and holiday, at which their exercises
for the week French letters, German compo-

sitions, maps, drawings -were shown, and
poems were recited, and their duets and solos
were played.
Every Friday her girls gathered about her,
and sewed for the poor of the parish for two
hours, after which they put up two large boxes
of flowers in wet moss, and sent them off to the
London hospitals, took dainties to the sick
of the estate or the neighborhood, read to the
old and blind people in the cottages, and gen-
erally observed their duty to their neighbor.
She walked with her children, talked to them,
made a study of their characters, knew the
peculiarities, temptations, virtues of each one,
and watched the development of each child as
carefully as if it had been the only one.
It was a pretty sight to see them clustered
about her for a talk, a story, or games; a pret-
tier to see the rows of flaxen polls and brown
heads in the family pew, going through their de-
votions with so much quietness and reverence.
Reverence and a respect for authority she had
contrived to implant in them very early. I
don't wish you to behave well at church from
the lowest motive, but from the highest. It is
extremely ill-bred-to misbehave in church, but
far better to remember that the place is sacred,"
she had told them.
Into this system, as I have said, Nina was
soon absorbed. Marian shared Frdulein's la-
bors, and took certain classes drawing, math-
ematics, English literature. The example and
influence of the cousins made Nina first docile;
then her interest was aroused, and at last her
ambition. And soon Marian had the satisfac-
tion of seeing her study as she had never studied
in her life; indeed, she had to cut down Nina's
tasks and regulate her feverish industry be-
fore long, so determined was Nina "not to let
the English get ahead of the Americans." She
amazed her aunt, too, by her cleverness with

MISS NINA BARROW.

her needle. "Who taught you to sew, dear ?
I never saw a child use a needle so cleverly
as you do."
"Oh, I just picked it up all around from
everybody, because I liked it. I would n't
have learned it if I had been taught. I know
I should have just hated it," replied Nina.
At first Nina was quite willing to assist by
giving money, but not by doing work. But
Marian said, "No, dear Nina; don't giye of
that which costs you nothing. Do some-
thing, yourself, for the poor."' Nina willingly
agreed to join the sewing-class. She took
the patterns for baby clothes that her aunt kept
for the benefit of needy infants, and, with-
out a word to anybody, cut out various gar-
ments and made them up with great neatness
and surprising despatch. It was work after
her own heart.
"Oh, the poor little thing she would say,
as she folded up the little garments. It just
sha'n't go cold and all shivering and horrid!
It shall just have the prettiest, sweetest; warm-
est, cutest clothes that a baby can have -my
baby shall." She said "my baby" because
there was a certain amount of rivalry among
the girls in their work, and needy babies were
only too plentiful.
She bought a quantity of flannel and cotton
for them all, one day when she was at Stoke-
Pottleton; and when Jane brought in the huge
parcel Nina said, "That 's all right, Aunty.
I got it, and got it good, too. Not stuff that
you can see through. Poor little things!"
She was surprised at their surprise when, on
Mrs. Aubrey's saying: "It is beautiful and
warm, and will make up nicely; so good of Mrs.
Andrews," she replied: 'Oh, Grandy did n't
have anything to do with it! Grandy does n't
know anything about shopping. She never
knows what she wants, and never likes what
she gets; and it 's the easiest thing in the
world to fool her. I bought them. And I
told the man I was an American, and they
wanted the best of everything always, or none
at all. And he brought me first some cottony
stuff, and I just got a match and lit it, and
showed him how it burned, and told him if he
had n't some that was real good, all wool,
fit for babies, I guess there were other stores

that had. And then he got out that you see
there, and I took it."
"Was that at Mifford and Dobins's ?" asked
Mabel. Oh, dear Nina, how did you know?
How could you? And these trimmings, surely
they are not for the babies poor children like
those ? "
Well, I 'd like to know why not! replied
Nina, with warmth. "It does n't hurt poor
children to have decent things, does it ?"
In the same way she greatly enjoyed gather-
ing and picking the flowers for the hospitals.
She would have liked to strip the Aubrey green-
houses for the purpose, and scandalized Don-
aldson by asking him why he did n't send his
choicest ferns and roses there.
I guess if you were poor and sick and sad
you 'd like a fine rose. What if it is a fine
rose? It's none too good for a poor, dying
woman to smell, Donaldson; but, if you could,
you 'd give her a turnip to remind her of the
country. You ought to be ashamed of your-
self! I '11 get them some beautiful flowers this
very day at Stowarth, and send them off. See
if I don't! You can keep your old ferns and
roses," she said, to him; and all because he had
said, "Send my fine roses to the likes of them,
Miss?"
It was on Monday of the following week
that Nina ran down to the garden, and then to
the dear old Pleasaunce, where she took a seat
on a bench, and looked about the sunny, lovely
spot with much satisfaction as she ate a necta-
rine. She was just beginning on a fresh fruit
when she saw approaching her from a verdant
alley a small man clad in black, and walking
with his hands clasped behind him.
." I guess he 's another sort of one. They do
have the funniest servants over here! Mercy,
what a funny apron! And he 's got on black-
silk stockings and knee-breeches like Thomas's.
I wonder what he does? Nina thought.
He was near her by this time, and after an
amiable smile and greeting, sat down by her,
saying: I suppose there is room for me here,
is n't there ? "
Yes, if I do the crowding," replied Nina,
pertly, with a sharp look at her companion.
I don't suppose you can stay long, can you ?
You '11 have to go in, won't you ? But maybe

947

MISS NINA BARROW.

you 're like Thomas. You know Thomas,
don't you? He 's just as horrid as he can be.
I just despise him! And he takes time to do
whatever he wants to do. Maybe you do,
too ? "
"When I take time I have always taken it
from something else that ought to have con-
sumed it," said her companion.
"What do you do, anyway? I have n't
seen you before, around," inquired Nina.
"Do ? It would be much easier to tell you
what I don't do. But why do you ask ? said he.
Oh, nothing. Only, you 're a new sort -
different from the others, and I thought I 'd
like to know. Oh, I know! You 're the
Groom of the Chambers. I never heard of
such a thing till I came here; but Catherine
said one was coming before the Bishop did.
Arthur says the Bishop 's a good man, but the
dullest old preacher in the Church of England,"
said Nina, who was in a genial and communi-
cative mood, and quite enjoyed giving her im-
pressions of things and people at such times.
"Arthur says the whole family have got to get
into a strait-waistcoat while he 's here, and he
says he does n't mind; but he 's afraid it won't
please some of the fellows he 's got down here
from Oxford-having the Bishop round. And
Catherine 's going to be confirmed."
"Oh, indeed! And are you going to be
confirmed, too ? asked her companion, with
rather a peculiar smile.
"No. I have n't been baptized yet. I
don't know yet what church to like the best."
"And do you really mean to say that you
have not been baptized? That it rests with
you to choose a religion ? I never heard any-
thing so extraordinary in my life," said he.
Why, that 's nothing. Grandy 's been fuss-
ing at me for a perfect age about that. But
I 'm only twelve, and there 's no hurry."
She then gave him a history of the people she
knew and their various beliefs, and reiterated
that she was only twelve and had n't made up
her mind.
Only twelve! Why, it 's perfectly heathen-
ish! It is dreadful! thought he. Who are
you, and where do you come from?" said he,
scrutinizing her closely as he spoke.
My name 's Nina Barrow, and I came from

New York. I guess you know where New
York is, if you know anything," said she.
Oh, you do, do you ? he replied, and gave
her another long look. Then he laughed.
"Who are you?" she asked with asperity.
"What 's your name ? You are a sort of ser-
vant, are n't you? "
I am, my dear; but not quite what you
think. My name is William Thynne," he re-
plied,very simply and good-humoredly. You
never heard it before, did you ? "
No, and it 's an awfully funny name." She
laughed heartily as she spoke, and added, "But
it suits you, for you are thin."
Nina had thought him ugly at first, but the
more she looked at his face the better it pleased
her, the expression was so kindly and gentle.
"Are you fond of reading, my dear? he
now asked, and produced a book from behind
him. "This is rather dry even for me; but I
hope you are fond of it. A taste for reading is
one of the best gifts that fairy godmothers can
give when they come to a christening. Let me
see. I 've read some of your American tales-
Cooper was the name, I think. Do you know
his stories? There was one- ah,-' Leather-
stocking,' that I particularly remember to have
enjoyed. You 've read Miss Edgeworth's sto-
ries, of course, and Mrs. Trimmer's; and Scott? "
No, I have n't read those. But I 've read
lots of books stacks of 'em; the Wide, Wide
World,' and Uncle Tom's Cabin,' and Rose
in Bloom,' and the creepy half of Oliver Twist,'
and almost all of Romola,' and every word in
'Little Women,' and bits out of 'Plutarch's
Lives,' and I forget the rest. Oh, yes, when
Miss Miller went away once, she left Gil Blas,'
and I read that; and I read lots about John
Wesley when I was getting over the measles, and
then I 've read all about Sherlock Holmes,
you know. And Cousin Marian taught me the
' Ode to the Skylark,' by heart, and The May-
Queen,' and lots of pieces, and read to me
plenty of Scott, and I just adore King Richard
the Lionheart."
Nina poured out this sentence almost with-
out a pause, and was extremely surprised when
her companion gave her a strange look, and in
tones of perfect horror exclaimed, Such books
for a child of your age Goodness me and

948

[SEPT.

rising as if to shake off the insupportable
thought, left her to her own reflections and
walked briskly toward the house. His gait
was shambling and awkward, his whole person
slight and insignificant; and she was still look-
ing after him and feeling offended, when Mr.
Carter, the curate in charge of Aubrey church,
came hurrying toward her.
Have you seen the Bishop? I was told
he was in the garden," he said.
No, I have n't. One of the chief servants
who 's just come was out here a minute ago,
but he 's gone in to his work now," said Nina.
Well, suppose we have a look at the rose-
bushes," said Mr. Carter blandly. I dare say
I 'm too early for the Bishop. I fear to disturb
him." Nina rose, and they went off amicably
together. I hope and think we 've got every-
thing just as the Bishop would like it. I 've
been run off my legs, almost, getting everything
settled."
"Well, I hope you have got it nicer than it
was," said Nina emphatically. It 's so black
and dark and dusty. We would n't have such
a church in America. Why don't you liven it
up and make it pretty? If you 'd give it a
good coat of whitewash and paint it red inside,
and clean it up, and get some flowers and lights
and things, it would be just as good as new.
I '11 buy you a cross and some candlesticks for
it if you want me to."
Whitewash Aubrey church! said Mr. Car-
ter, as if Nina had bidden him murder the
Queen. "And as to crosses and candlesticks
- never! "
"Well, why not? I don't know what you
mean, but I guess there 's no harm in hav-
ing a church nice and pretty specially when
all the houses around are just elegant, and
the church looks as if it was built by Noah -
as old as the hills, and rain coming through the
roof, and Browser with her umbrella up to keep
it off, last Sunday. Umbrellas are as bad as
crosses in churches, I guess, and you 'd get for-
giveness for cleaning it up, anyway," replied
Nina with all her own pertness.
"Ahem You don't understand these things,
Nina," replied Mr. Carter, with reserve, after
which they made the rounds of the garden, and
a few moments later returned to the house.

949

Marian thought she had never seen a love-
lier sight than the group of fair young Eng-
lish girls who filled the main body of Aubrey
church that day, clad in white and wearing
white veils; and the service brought tears to
her eyes, as she followed in imagination all
these tender young lives.
Nina sat next to Arthur in the family pew,
and when the Bishop, fully robed, advanced
and took his seat, Arthur was surprised to hear
her exclaim under her breath :." Mercy "
"What 's the matter ?' he whispered; to
which she replied, Nothing." She had recog-
nized her friend the "Groom of the Cham-
bers," that was all; and was actually, for once,
abashed. The Bishop's sermon was short and
simple and earnest, and it was meant for the
parents and children before him.
The good man's face glowed with a lovely
light as he spoke, and Mrs. Aubrey's gentle
face reflected it all.
As luck would have it, that very evening,
Arthur, after dinner, drifted over to a seat next
the Bishop, and from sheer shyness rather than
from any insincerity happened to say that he
had liked to heat him preach that morning.
"Though I am the dullest preacher in the
Church of England? asked the Bishop, with a
smile. Poor Arthur almost sank through the
floor, and was covered with confusion, and
crimson with blushes. The Bishop put out his
hand, and laid it gently on his shoulder.
Don't make yourself unhappy about it, my
dear boy," he said affectionately. "It is the
truth. I am not eloquent, and never preached
a sermon in my life that I did not prepare with
difficulty, and deliver with a halting tongue,
and a keen sense of all its defects. But we
must each do what we can."
Touched to the quick by this most powerful
of all sermons the sweet humility and good-
ness of the man- Arthur earnestly begged
pardon for his idle speech. It was freely and
fully accorded; and they were still talking of
life at Oxford, when the door opened and Nina
came in. She caught the Bishop's eye, and
sank blushing into the first seat she could find.
But she was not allowed to stay there, for he
called pleasantly, Come over here, little Amer-
ican, by me "; and Nina went.

MISS NINA BARROW.

MISS NINA BARROW.

It was the apron that did it, and the knee-
breeches. I am sorry. I was dreadfully rude.
I did n't mean to be, indeed I did n't," she said
confidently, inspired by the kind look on the
dear old face.
"Never mind, my dear, never mind. It was
the most natural mistake in the world, and, as I
told you, not really a mistake at all," said the
Bishop, kindly. I am a servant, and I hope
one worthy of my Master. Come now, tell me
something of your life at home."
This was the prelude to a long talk between
them, and Nina said afterward of him to Ma-
rian, He 's just as nice as he can be; he 's a
lovely old gentleman, and I do wish he was an
American! And, Cousin Marian, I guess I
won't be quite so smart next time. Mabel
would n't have talked so."
Nina liked all the cousins, but especially ad-
mired and loved Mabel, who was worthy of all
admiration. And Marian smiled at this charac-
teristic expression of penitence. She had said
to herself twenty times, This is just the place,
these the surroundings, for Nina. She has lib-
erty, but no license; kindness and affection, but
she has to submit to authority; and she has be-
gun to think, to study, to work for others. My
task is wonderfully simplified -she is wonder-
fully improved, and the improvement has not all
been on her side either. She has brightened and
improved these English cousins of hers, in more
ways than one. Mrs. Aubrey told me so yes-
terday. What a woman she is! She seems to
have drawn an invisible circle about her chil-
dren. As long as they keep within its bounds
-and it is large enough to give them plenty
of freedom they do not know that it is there.
But when they touch it in any direction, or try
to break through, they are soon made aware
that they must keep within it. She has the
great secret, in fact, of managing children -
the magnetism of love."
Nina for the next six weeks studied, it is not
too much to say, furiously. She won the prize
that Fraulein had offered for French. She rode
with Mabel and her uncle to hounds, and great
was her pluck. She had had some lessons in
a riding-school, having been willing to take
these few lessons only because they were n't
lessons." But she felt that she must not flinch,

and, with her heart in her mouth at first,
bravely jumped hurdles, ditches, fences, be-
cause she had told Reggie that she was an
American, and that the Americans could ride
as well as anybody." Finally she came to show
a dash and recklessness that got her into trou-
ble with her uncle more than once.
My head was just spinning, and I felt as if
I were going over Trinity Church, but I did n't
care! I was n't going to let the English beat
an American jumping, or anything, Cousin
Marian, of course I was n't," Nina said.
"And now I go over like a bird, and don't
mind a bit. I like it. I 'd give anything to
ride to hounds and take away the brush from
the English once! So I will, too, when I 'm
grown up."
She taught four of the little Aubreys to
dance, and very funny it was to see her do it.
She pushed, she pulled, she hauled them about
here and there; she buzzed about them like an
angry wasp, patience not being her forte; she
showed them over and over again the way to
do it," whisked around through the steps like a
danseuse, in neat black-satin boots and silk
stockings that seemed made for the stage.
At last she burst out with, "You can't waltz
any more than a wardrobe What is the matter
with you, anyway? You are all corners, and
yet you are just meal-bags and don't know
tune from tune! You should just see Ameri-
can girls dance. They don't have to learn.
They just dance naturally. Mercy! Look
at Gwen galumphing! I can't teach her un-
less somebody holds her. She 's fallen three
times and knocked down all the others and
stepped on my toes; and I guess we 'd better
not try indoors. There is n't room enough in-
doors for the English dancing. We 'd better
go out on the grass. I give up "
But she was really so good-natured, and they
took her gibes so amiably, that she did go on
with her labors, in spite of these sarcasms; and,
as Reggie said, "licked them into shape like a
regular frog-eater," before she was done, and
actually put them through the lanciers before
the assembled household.
Even Thomas conceded that she was won-
derful when it come to the figure-dances"; and
Mrs. Aubrey thanked her, and Mabel told her

[SEPT.

950

MISS NINA BARROW.

she was a dear to take so much trouble," and
Nurse hustled her brood off into a warmer
room, saying, And it 's to be hoped as you've
thanked your cousin and will teach the others
as they grow up, and won't get cooled off too
sudden, and wish you 'd let well enough alone."
Nurse was always a double-faced person when
there were consequences to look for; but a
more single-hearted old woman never lived.
If they could learn dancing without its affect-
ing their health and morals, well and good; but
if it should prove dangerous or demoralizing,
nobody need expect her to be surprised. She
always said of herself that "she was prepared
for everything and for anything."
But she was not prepared at all for what hap-
pened the night of their dance. When she had
got them all into bed, and left Jane on guard,
she went off to the housekeeper's room "for a
word," as was her custom. Jane remembered
something that was needed in the nursery, went
downstairs, and stayed there talking.
Nina, coming upstairs ten minutes later, was
for an instant's time paralyzed by seeing a little
figure of flame rushing down the corridor to-
ward her. The next, she bravely rushed forward,
seized little Ethel, dragged the felt table-cloth
from the school-room table with one hand while
she held the child with the other, wrapped it
tightly around her, and so saved the little
one's life.
The hubbub that ensued when this was
known is past description-the shrieks, the
tears, the explanations of the servants, the ter-
ror and gratitude of Mrs. Aubrey, the excite-
ment of the children, the praises lavished upon
Nina, and the tenderness with which she and
Ethel were ministered to! -for Nina's lashes
and brows were burned off, her hair and hands
had suffered seriously, and Ethel was even more
badly burned.
Oh, Nina, how could you do it?" said
Catherine, when the excitement was over and
she could be heard. I should have run away,
I know I should. I am so frightened of fire!
How could you?"
"Americans can do anything that 's got to
be done," said the poor child proudly. Ameri-
cans never run away; but all I thought of was
poor little Ethel being burned up. Just like

that,"- waving her hand before her face,- I
remembered Jobson's sister's husband saving
his wife's cousin with a rug. Before you could
say Jack Robinson it was all over, and I had
got her put out. Oh, Cousin Marian!" Here,
half fainting, Nina was borne off to bed, where
she spent some time, and was almost canonized
for gallant behavior. Ethel -poor little soul!
- was confined to her room for two months,
and paid very dearly for one of those small
naughtinesses often so productive of grave con-
sequences.
I just wished to light one match, and Nurse
would n't hear of it," she said, whimpering.
And so it came about that Nina, who had
come to Aubrey under conditions that brought
her into something like contempt, left the place,
when the time came, not only loved but really
honored by everybody in the household. She
was very reluctant to go, but was actually a
sufficiently reformed young person to give in
cheerfully when Marian and Mrs. Andrews de-
cided that the time had come for them to go
to the Continent.,
"You can do whatever you want to do,
Grandy," she said; "and we can come back
before we go home, can't we? I don't want
to go, a bit. I just love my cousins. When
the English are nice, they are like the little girl
with the curl,- very, very nice,- and when
they are n't, oh, are n't they horrid But the
Aubreys are half American, and I have n't ever
had anybody so nice to play with-- and such
dozens upon dozens of them! If you can't get
along with some, there are always the others;
and the twins are perfectly sweet. But I '11 go
any day you choose, Grandy, and not make a
bit of fuss."
I don't want to go, either," said Grandy.
"I 'm sure I 've never had the kind attention
anywhere that I 've had here. There are
worse places than England."
"And there 's a better one, too, for Ameri-
cans, Grandy," Nina hastened to say, and
that 's America."
It was just before Nina left Aubrey that Her-
bert came in one day, red and resolute. "I
want to tell you, Nina, that I said all sorts of
things about you when you came to Aubrey,"
he burst out. "I am going to tell you just

MISS NINA BARROW.

what I said. I said you were a hateful little
Yankee. And I said you were shoppy, because
you were got up most awfully, you know, for a
child. And I said you were a perfect limb,
and had an awful temper, I could see. And I
said you were a coward, that day we went out
in the drag. And I said I was precious sorry
you were my cousin. And I said I was going
to get all I could out of you. And I 've come
to tell you, and to beg your pardon, and to ask
you to forgive me, and to tell you that you are
just as brave as Robert Bruce, if you are a girl;
and I 'm proud to have you for a cousin, and
I have made a regular idiot of myself. And I
hope you '11 shake hands with me and bear me
no malice."
"I can't shake hands yet began Nina.
"Oh, what a brute I am, not to have re-
membered your poor hands !" exclaimed Her-
bert, in real distress. I 've been most awfully
unhappy and ashamed ever since you saved
Ethel's life so pluckily, and I could n't rest till
I told you."
Nina's pale face had flushed very much.
"Well, don't you worry, Herbert. I guess there
are lots of English that are as hateful as anybody.
And I 've said horrid things about you to Cou-
sin Marian, and never would have told you,
either, if you had n't first. And it 's made me

change my mind about you, for I do hate a
sneak of all things. And we 've got to-be cou-
sins, so I guess-we 'd better try to be friends;
so you can kiss me on the forehead, if you like.
We won't go around backbiting any more, and
when I come back to England I 'm going on a
walking-tour with you and Arthur. He says
an American can't stand it, but I '11 show
him!"
Herbert did kiss her, and there were tears in
his honest blue eyes, and then he laughed
noisily and said: "You do look a queer one.
You look as if you had put on the gloves for a
round. There, I've put my foot into it again -
laughing at you. Only you know I would n't."
Yes, I know. You are a very nice boy,
Herbert. I wish you were an American,"
sighed Nina.
"You ought to be an English girl, Nina; it
would be so nice. You 'd be up to every-
thing," said Herbert. "Reg and I are going
to teach you cricket when you come back, and
you can go anywhere with us that you like,
and do everything that we do, though we don't
let the other girls come bothering around. You
are sure you have quite forgiven me, are n't
you now ? "
Yes, I am; and it 's awfully nice, forgiving
- specially when there is n't much to forgive."

(To be concluded in the next number.)

OUR LATEST BICYCLE CLUB-THE "GET-THERES."

952

By MARIE A. MILLIE.

IT was our good fortune to be present at an
important meeting of the Kheddah," at Chila
on the banks of the Ganges, where the Nepalese
Government had sent down their magnificent
troop of tame elephants, for the chase of the
wild ones. They were about one hundred and
fifty in number-magnificent, noble creatures!
The two finest among them were the "kings "
of the troop, and were called Bijli Prasad "
and Narain Gaj Prasad." Bijli Prasad, which
means, Lord of Lightning," was such a grand
fellow The width of his brows was so great
that he could not put his head through our
hall-door; and he knows to the smallest point
what a mighty creature he is.
He and his companion, Narain Gaj Prasad,
which means "The Peerless Lord," are provided
with two slave-elephants, and the only duty of
the latter is to fetch and provide fodder for
Bijli and Narain Gaj. They do their duty right
well. At early dawn, their mahouts, or drivers,
drive them into their jungles, and they work like
real slaves. They collect the sweet sugar-canes,
tearing them up by their roots, the young suc-
culent grasses, and tender leaves, and heap
them up in masses which weigh about three
hundred pounds each. These loads are put on
their backs, and thrice a day they gladly carry
VOL. XXIV.- 120. 9

in their burdens and lay them at the feet of
their lords.
We went out by moonlight to see the latter
fed, and'any child would enjoy the strange
sight. First of all, the mahout makes a great
big camp-fire of twigs and brushwood, and on
it he places a large flat iron dish, supported on
two bricks. Then he takes wheat-flour and
kneads it with water into great round flat
cakes, about an inch thick and twice the cir-
cumference of a soup-plate. These cakes he
bakes on the iron dish.
We were anxious to taste them, and we found
them very good. We punched out with our
fingers all the nice brown spots, and ate them,
piping hot. And to make up to Bijli and Na-
rain for taking part of their supper, we had
prepared a treat, of which they are particularly
fond. From.the bazaar we had brought great
balls of sugar-cane juice boiled down and made
solid, called goor" in that country. Each
ball was twice the size of a tennis-ball, and in
each wheat-cake or chapati" we rolled a
lump of this molasses. You should have seen
how the big beasts enjoyed their feed -how
their great trunks rested down on our shoulders,
always upturned for the forthcoming delicacy!
Next morning we went down to the river-

~a,

STORIES OF ELEPHANTS.

banks to see them bathe. The mahouts took
them into the stream and bade them lie down
on their sides, which they did most obediently;
then, with a brick-bat, the men scrubbed them
vigorously. They did not mind one bit. They
knew the bath meant a day's comfort; and they
submitted like good little children. When one
remembered how, if they but chose, they could
in a moment pulverize the mahouts, one won-
dered at their mute obedience -and whether
they are ignorant of their colossal strength.
The Prime Minister of Nepal with the court
were at that time in holy Hardwar, in order to
bathe in the sacred Ganges, and perform their
pilgrimage to the Hur Ki Pyree," or "Steps to
Heaven "; and for their benefit, the elephants
were made to go in procession through the
sacred town.
Can any child picture a procession of a hun-
dred and fifty tame elephants in single file,
headed by Bijli, and with Narain bringing up the
rear? It was truly a grand sight. They covered
a mile and a quarter of road, and were as orderly
as soldiers in a marching regiment. Through
the town they marched, each beast in its place,
in no way disconcerted by the populace, or by
the screaming children, who joined in singing
their nursery rhymes at each turn of the road.
They think that Guneshin, the god of wisdom,
has his existence in an elephant's body, and
so they venerate the colossal beast immensely.
Their little voices, pitched at the highest, sang
out the couplet:

It was such a quaint, queer sight! The old
town with its mosques and minarets; the "sa-
cred stairs of Vishnu," leading down to the
blue water's edge; the priests on the steps in
gay sulphur-colored garments, feeding the sa-
cred fish, while the sacred monkeys were swarm-
ing everywhere, swinging from branch to branch
of the trees, feeding on the house-tops, scream-
ing and playing. Below marched undisturbed
the imposing procession of elephants, all bent
on obedience, and wending their way, regard-
less of all distractions.
The chase for wild elephants began next day
at early dawn. We had heard of a wild herd

being seen in the Chila Valley, and we mounted
on an elephant to see the hunt. Mr. Bagshawe,
the Conservator of Forests, was in command of
the party, and Bijli Prasad was the most re-
sponsible elephant.
For two long days they hunted their wild
brethren through the deepest jungle; and in
some places the pampas and other grasses waved
four and five feet higher than our heads, even
while we were riding on the elephant.
Once, on the second day, the quest seemed
hopeless. Through bungling, or owing to the
dense jungle, the herd had escaped; and the
ladies of the party halted for luncheon in a
deep ravine. After an hour's interval, we
heard the reports of guns, and the roaring and
thundering stampede of the "chasers." Imag-
ine our feelings in the ravine! never knowing
when the herd would be on us, trampling us
over; or whether there was the faintest hope of
our being "in at the death." After a suspense
of an hour, such as few of us would like to
suffer again, we decided to mount and try to
rejoin the hunters.
As luck would have it, from the next hill we
had a view of the whole valley below.
Eight wild elephants had been hunted by the
tame ones into the valley, and there they were,
two of them being magnificent tuskers, tired to
death, with no hope of escape. A firm stock-
ade of trunks of trees was built to close every
way out. Each hill was occupied by tame
elephants and their riders; but still the gallant
beasts made a noble fight for freedom. It was
really distressing to see their uneasiness and
trouble, particularly that of one poor mother,
who had such a dear little baby, not more than
three and a half feet high. She was overcome
the first, and was led off, attached by chains to
two big tuskers; and it was most interesting to
see the captors' intelligence in dealing with the
poor baby elephant. They gently forced it in
between them to the mother's side; every move
it made was most closely observed and checked,
but never one bit of roughness did they show
it. And so it was led off into camp, the
trumpeting of the mother making us feel most
tearfully sympathetic. There was a most exciting
fight with the others; they were simply ridden
down by the tame ones, and overpowered only

954

[SEPT,

STORIES OF ELEPHANTS.

when thoroughly faint and exhausted. The
biggest among them a splendid tusker re-
sisted to the last. For nearly a week he had
been hunted, without a chance to eat or drink,
but he still remained defiant, not yielding to
any of the many champions who went forth to
fight him.
At last it was decided that Bijli alone should
enter the field against him, and we held our
breath in anxious suspense. The poor captive
seemed to recognize that his last hope was gone
-when his magnificent antagonist appeared; and

AA.

THE CAPTURE OF THE MOTH

we watched keenly to see how he measured the
other's proportions before their first rush of
attack.
How can I describe the thundering stampede,
.and the shock like the burst of a cannon when
the two mighty heads met in the first charge,
the firing of guns, the screams and cheering from
the mahouts, the trumpeting of the wild ele-
phants already captives, who still hoped for the
freedom of their leader ?
But it was of no avail! Bijli's enormous

strength was too much for the poor, tired, worn-
out beast. At the first sign of yielding, four
magnificent tame elephants, with mahouts on
their backs, rushed into the field. Nooses of
iron chains were flung round the huge body,
and proud Bijli headed the sad procession.
The captive was secured to two elephants on
each side, with chains on each leg, and so led
into camp.
It is impossible not to feel sorry for captured
elephants. They seem to have the spirit of
American Indians, and resolutely refuse com-

ER ELEPHANT AND HER BABY.

fort. All food is rejected, and so they remain,
starving and thoroughly broken-hearted. It
takes a fortnight or more to gain obedience
from them, and it is most interesting to see how
gently and gradually the tame elephants "let
them down," and teach them how to perform
their duties.
As a rule, each captive is coupled to two
tame elephants, who insist firmly on his sharing
the day's work. No shirking is allowed -if
he refuses, they try to coerce him gently; if

STORIES OF ELEPHANTS.

gentleness fails, they fight him till he obeys, and
finally the victory is won.
They are broken-hearted, but yield to the
inevitable at last through hunger and coercion,

"THE TWO MIGHTY HEADS MET IN THE

and in the years to come they will take their
share in capturing their brethren. The baby
was the only one who made himself happy and
at home, but even after three weeks of captivity
it was great fun to see him charging the wild-
looking Nepalese, who tried to attach him to a
pole, in order to feed him with rice and milk.
Some time before the elephant-hunt I have
described, my husband was at a station in Ben-
gal. His work kept him out nearly all day,
and, being ill, I used to lie for hours in a long
garden-chair on the veranda, too weak to
read, or enjoy any more exciting amusement
than my eyes supplied to me.
We had three elephants for our tents and
baggage; and one dear creature used to feed
from my hands every day, and seemed as gen-
tle as any pet dog or cat.
One of our government chaprasis was par-

ticularly devoted to her, and invariably shared
his meal of fruit or flour-cakes with his dumb
friend. On a particularly hot day, the chaprasi,
to my surprise, placed his tiny child of six
months at the
elephant's feet,
warning her ex-
.. pressively that
the infant was
in her charge,
and was to be
\11tW cared for till his
return. I my-
-.A li,' self was an eye-
'" j '' /, witness of her
i i ",, wonderful saga-
city. Largeba-
v nana-trees and
fig-trees grew
around, and, to
S. my surprise, the
elephant broke
.. off one of the
former's spread-
ing leaves, held
S, "'* it like a fan in
her trunk, and
from time to
time gracefully
waved it over
FIRST CHARGE."-
the slumbering
child, whether to temper the heat of the atmo-
sphere or to keep off flies, I am unable to say. The
gentle way in which she moved her feet over the
child, and across to each side, astounded me. I
sent for a white loaf and some oranges, and call-
ing her by name (she was never chained), tried
in vain to tempt her to my side on the low
veranda. Nothing would induce her to leave
her charge. The warm air and monotonous
wave of the swinging fan overpowered me with
drowsiness, to which I yielded; and, after a sleep
of some duration, I was awakened by quiet,
subdued snorts beside me. To my surprise, I
found that the chaprasi had just returned to his
offspring, and the elephant stood near the ver-
anda beside me, patiently awaiting and gently
asking for the tempting dainties so bravely with-
stood for over two hours.
Of their marvelous mathematical precision

STORIES OF ELEPHANTS.

957

and .ability to count, no doubt can exist in the them lay high and dry; but the office-boat,
mind of any one who has ever visited Manda- which consisted of a single cabin, with large
lay, in Upper Burma. There large forests of doors fore and aft, was in the stream. My
teak are cultivated by the government, for friend sat in this cabin, absorbed in official cor-
building purposes; and the squared timbers are respondence, while we explored the shores.
placed and secured one above another, till a Suddenly looking up, he was dismayed to find
raft is formed to float down the Irrawaddy, for a herd of about forty wild elephants, headed by
conveyance to various other stations. Ele- a vicious-looking leader, gazing steadily at the
phants do the whole of this work. They con- boat and its solitary occupant. Stout soldier
vey the enormous logs down to the water's as he was, he watched the leader with consid-
edge, and pile them one above another, erable trepidation; for on his action depended
both lengthwise and across, till a perfect cube that to be adopted by the herd. To his im-
is formed. They show an intelligence and inter- mense relief, after a trumpet or two, the leader
est in their work that seems human, as any turned disdainfully, and crossed the stream.
eye-witness can affirm who has watched an He breathed a sigh of relief, and had forgotten
elephant at his loading, and then has seen him his lucky escape in the absorption of work -
move a few paces to one side, in order to judge when, swish! through the cabin came dash af-
of the effect of his work. If the appearance of ter dash of water. On the opposite side stood
the heap is not quite symmetrical, two elephants the leader and his herd, with well-filled trunks.
force the logs one way or the other with their One after the other administered the shower-
trunks till they get the desired result; and the bath, and then retreated, leaving my friend
perfect evenness and symmetry of the finished thoroughly ducked, and very rueful over the
cube is astonishing. They never miscalculate damp condition of his government papers and
the number required for
each cube, and never
overweight it.
I will conclude with
a single instance of the
elephant's conception of
a practical joke. In .
1870, a near relative of 14$
mine was head of the
Indian Military Police,
and his winter circuit
comprised the Looshai
country and hill tracts.
Herds of wild elephants
abounded in the dis-
trict, which contained
two important Khed-
dahs. The greater part -
of our tour was made by
water; and once we were "THE ELEPHANT GRACEFULLY WAVED THE LEAF OVER THE SLUMBERING CHILD."
detained several days in
the bed of a river, through the insufficiency surroundings; but thankful for his escape from
of water for the draft of our boats. Some of a worse fate than a wetting.

A FAIRY-RING INHABITED.

By HENRY HAWTHORNE.

I 'M glad mama did n't call me back,
'cause I saw a Fairy-Ring this morning, over by
that great tremendous tree, and I 'm going to
hide there, and see the fairies dance to-night.
I wonder why big people like mama never
think there are fairies ? I 'm always going to,
'cause I know there are, else books would n't
say so. Oh! what a big tree it is! I wonder
if they live up there ? But I guess not; I guess
they just fly all around everywhere, as birds
do. Is n't it getting dark! But fairies are
never afraid of night, so I 'm not going to be.
I wonder if they 'd laugh at me if I was afraid ?
Hallo! that 's a tree-toad. That means it 's
getting time for the fairies to come; it always
does. And just see how big the moon is now !
I 'm glad of that !
There goes another toad! I think three
have to be heard, and then a night-hawk flies
round, and then the fairies come suddenly and
dance. I wonder how long they 'll stay ? I
guess, till the moon goes down. How nice and
smooth the Fairy-Ring is-just like velvet!
They must plant fairy-grass on it. No, I guess
they do it by magic.
Fairies never have to go to school. Suppose
they did, and they got mad, and threw their
books 'round, and made faces at the school-
master! I 'm glad they don't. They would n't
seem a bit like fairies if they did.
There 's the last toad! Now hurry up, old
hawk, and fly round; everything else is all
ready, and just waiting for you. If I were
magic I 'd make him come pretty quick. I 'd
just wave my gold wand, and say a magic
word; and would n't that hawk come out? I
wonder if they '11 be dressed in beautiful clothes,
as they were in the last story mama read me ?
I wonder if they like boys? Supposing they
don't? But I guess they can't see me in
this grass, unless they thought of- Hi-ie!
that 's the hawk! Whew! but I must be still

now. I hope they won't hear me think /
What a beautiful night it is, and how bright
and big the moon has grown; I never saw it
so very big before. And how quiet everything
is; not a thing is moving or singing. It must
be fairy-time.
See that big cobweb in the branches No,
that is n't a cobweb, it 's moving; it's coming
down. Why, it's a lot of dragon-flies What
are they carrying? Oh! I know; they 're the
music band; that's what the book said. Yes,
there are the trumpets and drums and other
things, made out of flowers. I never saw such
big dragon-flies in the daytime. How beauti-
fully their wings shine -but how slowly they
are coming down. Why, they 're playing mu-
sic! I can just hear it. That must be why
they're so long getting down.
I wonder if the fairies are behind them ? No,
they 're all alone. But I know the fairies will
be here soon, now. I wonder how they '11
look ? See those big dragon-flies they 're all
by the ring now, and putting up their music-
flowers. How quickly they do things! Every-
thing seems ready now. I hope--
Oh! I 're seen fairies! Yes! there they
come! All through the leaves and branches,
riding on big fire-flies and all kinds of things!
How splendid! And see, there 's the King
and Queen, drawn by those ten green beetles!
What a beautiful chariot they're sitting in! I
guess it 's a pearl-shell. And see that lovely
little fairy riding beside them! She's got a
crown on, too. Oh! that 's the Princess, I
guess. What long hair! And see all those
others coming behind!
I knew there were fairies. Just as if books
could think them up I wonder what mama '11
say now. They 're all here. Don't they move
quick ? There are the King and Queen get-
ting out. Why, they 're out already! I never
saw things move so fast. See! the dragon-

A FAIRY-RING INHABITED.

flies are beginning to play. How loud the mu-
sic is now! Just see that one beating the
drum And it 's only a flower, too! I guess
they're going to dance now see! they are all
in rows. Yes; now they 're dancing.
M i,- hall,, rI ouh thie .r,,n. ..I. Hi-.. ,w

"THE FAIRY KING AND QUEEN, DRAWN BY TEN GREEN
BEETLES."
dancing! See! they 're sitting together, and
looking on. There's the King clapping his hands
and laughing. What a tiny laugh! I wonder
why he 's laughing ? There's the Princess-oh!

I guess that's why. See! she won't dance with
that little man-fairy. Look at him down on his
knees! I 'm glad she won't. I wonder if she 'd
dance with me if I were a fairy ? Now there 's
another
Sfairy ask-
ing her.
How fine
he looks !
I think he's
a Prince.
See him
stamping
his foot!i
I guess

cess does
not want
him, either.
No- off
he goes.
How mad
q. ~ he looks!
I wonder
what's the
matter with
the Prin-
S cess that
she won't
dance with
any of
tl emI ? Maybe
it 's some-
thing more
f than dancing
tthni et they want;
-' n,.tbe they want
Lt, .e her knights,
a i 6n, 1 I, for her, and
vi.: Ie !.:. c, .,r something
,ht' their ,h1.. lj?, :r as real big
knic. d. n'd i .ci bet;:ar.i one of them
:OUl, rn,:,rri h,,r ".1 'd t.:. do wonderful
thi i._ mkI LI- k .!I big ,r.i : ,n,.; th poisonous
breath, or bring the King some great pearls
from under the sea; I guess even more than
that. Perhaps he 'd have to get a secret from
the Man in the Moon.
What's that light ? Oh, another firefly!
How quick it 's coming! It carries a fairy on

959

A FAIRY-RING INHABITED.

its back! That's a Prince! Look at that pur-
ple robe! And what a splendid sword! The
King and Queen, see, are standing up, and there
is the Princess with them. I guess he is a
Prince. Look at him bowing before them, and
see all the other fairies watching him! He
must be proud. I wish I could understand
what they 're saying. There! He 's taking
her by the hand to dance. How she 's smiling!
There are the King and Queen coming down to
dance, too. What a beautiful dance! How
beautiful the Prince and Princess look to-
gether! I wish I were he! I suppose he 's

done all kinds of magic things that no one
else could do, and is now back to marry
her, as most likely the King promised that
he should.
How monstrous the moon 's got! I can see
the fairies- Why, they're gone!-the fairies;
every one has disappeared! And look at the
moon-it's getting bigger!
Ha! There comes the Princess back right
toward me. I never saw anything so sweet.
Is n't she small! I wish I could move. I
guess she sees me. Yes; she 's smiling again -
at me! There-why, it 's mama!

.1.

;~ 117"~ '

~L-~i ~

THIS morning in the wood I found
A lot of lovely parasols--
Such darling red and yellow ones,
And just the size to suit my dolls.

I gathered, oh! such heaps and heaps,
And meant to take them home with me,
When Nursey came, and broke them all,
And was as scared as scared could he

She said that they would poison me,
And they would make me very dead
If I should eat them, though they looked
So very pretty-pink and red.

And now there is n't any left--
Not even one for my best doll.
How very stupid Nursey is!-
As if I 'd eat a parasol!
Wilfrid Wilson Gibson.

960

\\

V6L. XXIV.- 121.

COLONEL GRUMPY.

By JANE CAMPBELL.

-i HE was a darling little boy,
With sunny eyes of blue,
U| And happy as the day was long
Unless he had to do
Some task that did not please him much,
And then he was so cross,
His mother thought her boy was gone,
And grieved so for his loss,
And said, It was a dreadful case,
That here in her own dear boy's place
Was surly Colonel Grumpy."

Her boy, she said, was good and sweet-
The pearl of little boys!
But Colonel Grumpy was most rude,
And broke up all his toys;
He tore his picture-books to bits,
Cracked his slate, lost his hat,
Pulled his little sister's hair,
And teased the pussy-cat.
She wished he 'd go away, and then
She 'd have her own sweqt boy again
Instead of Colonel Grumpy.

That Colonel Grumpy 's not my boy
I 'm sure is very plain,
And so I 'd better send him off
To-day in all the rain.
So, Colonel Grumpy, go away
In spite of wind and wet!
I want my boy who does not sulk,
Nor does he scold or fret!"
A little sob, two pleading eyes,
Then, clasped tight in her arms, he cries:
Good-by, cross Colonel Grumpy!"

.. _---------

- '7-,.

1

^yPB

THE SKYLARK'S SONG.

BY JOHN BENNETT.

ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO
BY CARL KIEFEN.

WORDS FROM "MASTER SKYLARK";
AIR BY JOHN BENNETT.

THE SKYLARK'S SONG. 963

Spring time. How full of heart a bod y feels! Sing hey trol ly

Repeat Refrain after Sd Stanza.

lol ly! 0 to live is to be jol ly, When Spring-timecometh with the Summer at her heels!

----- -= ;t

"OH, DEAR, OH, DEAR!-DO THEY SPELL COMPOSITION WITH A C OR A K?"

THE LETTER-BOX.

CONTRIBUTORS are respectfully informed that between the Ist of June and the i5th of September manuscripts cannot convenientlybe
examined at the office of ST. NICHOLAS. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with contributions
will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date.

GEOFFROY, the painter of the picture from which this
month's frontispiece is taken, has no equal in rendering
the expressions of children, and every face and attitude
of the scholars in this "village school" will repay care-
ful study. The quaint linen caps and collars worn by
teacher and pupils are parts of the costume of the peas-
antry. It would seem strange to us if the inhabitants
of each county or State should wear a distinctive hat -
but the result in Brittany, at least, is picturesque.
It is interesting to recall that Brittany received its name
from the Britons who settled there, when driven from
Cornwall, England, by their Anglo-Saxon enemies, and
that the modern Bretons are descendants of those exiles
from the southwestern part of England.

THE author of the poem "The Maid of Hainault," on
page 931 of this number of ST. NICHOLAS, sends some
explanatory notes about the game of court-tennis. Our
readers will be interested in her account of the ancient
game.
The historic game of court-tennis, of which our lawn-
tennis is a modern adaptation, had its origin many cen-
turies ago. It was the favorite sport of the kings and
nobles of France during the Middle Ages, and was then
confined exclusively to court circles. The game was
called jeu de la paume or game of the hand," probably
because at first the hand was used, instead of the racket,
in serving the ball. Among the famous royal players
of France were Louis XI., Louis XII., Francis I.,
Charles IX., Henry II., and Henry IV.; and the ladies
of the court of Catherine de' Medici, during the reign
of Henry II., adopted the fashion of braiding their hair,
in imitation of tennis-rackets with their interlaced
strings, which fashion was termed la coiffure en raquetle.
Court-tennis was introduced into England early in the
sixteenth century; and the celebrated tennis hall at the
palace of Hampton Court was built by Henry VIII. in
1526. This monarch and his successors, especially the
kings of the house of Stuart, were enthusiastic devotees
of this ancient game. There are now several halls for court-
tennis in London and Paris. There is also one at Ver-
sailles, which is still called the Hall of the Jeu de Paume;
and a fine structure, known as Hunniwell Court, is owned
by the Court Tennis Club of Boston. The rules of the
game are substantially the same as they were four cen-
turies ago. The ball is served against the wall of the
court, and, as it rebounds or "caroms" at various angles,
very skilful and scientific playing is required. In the
fifteenth century the most famous tennis-court of Paris
was in the Rue Grenier St. Lazare; and it was here that
Mademoiselle Margot, a charming young girl from the
province of Hainault, distinguished herself at the royal
game, and won the first prize, a silver ball.

For the benefit of the younger readers some of the
references in the poem are here explained.
"The crowned poet"- Shakspere frequently mentions
the game of court-tennis. See "Henry V.," Act I,
Scene 2, where the French Dauphin sends a gift of tennis-
balls to King Henry V., and the latter replies:
"His present, and your pains, we thank you for:
When we have matched our rackets to these balls
We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set,
Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard."
By the Merry Monarchs" the Stuarts are meant.
It is said that Charles I., in 16io, paid twenty pounds for
tennis-balls and rackets, and Charles II. was a very
expert player.
"Bluff King Henry" is, of course, Henry VIII. of
England, and by His imperial German guest" Emperor
Charles V. of Germany is referred to; he made a friendly
and diplomatic visit to King Henry's court in 1521.
Henry II. was the best player among the French
kings. He had his favorite court at the Louvre. Queen
Elizabeth of England also was very fond of watching
the game.

BROOKLINE, MASS.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are three little girls who
have taken you for some time, and look forward at the
end of every month to your arrival. A few summers
ago two of us went out West with our father and mo-
ther. There were a pony and donkey there, and we
were on a large farm, and rode to town once in a while;
but it was several miles away.
I went to a dog and pony show one day while there,
and the ponies were very small. I also rode on one of
the smallest when the show was over. It was in a tent,
something like a circus, only much smaller.
We saw a hound supposed to be the highest jumper
in the world. The man piled chairs and tables on top
of one another, nearly up to the top of the tent, and the
dog would jump over them.
We stayed in Indiana a mofith or so, and on the way
home stopped at Chicago two or three days, and then
went to Buffalo, Niagara Falls, Albany, and New York.
We were at last glad to come home again and get set-
tled down. From your loving readers,
MARY K., CARMELITA, and WILHELMINA S--

ALEXANDRIA, VA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been taking you about
six months, and find you the most interesting magazine I
have ever read. I live in Alexandria, Va., and I sup-
pose everybody has heard of that ancient town. The
church here to which Washington, went is a quaint old
structure, made of rough brick, and it has a tall wooden
steeple with blinds on the sides of it. There is also here
the house where Gen. Braddock stopped (Braddock
House). On the corner opposite it is the Carlyle House,
where Washington stayed. The steps where he has
often trod are made of pure mahogany; and at the top

THE LETTER-BOX.

of these stairs are two places for statues, but they have
never been occupied. There are about twenty rooms in
the Carlyle House; but the prettiest is the Blue Room,
or "Washington's Library." They also danced in this
room; for there still remain two large stones with long
wooden handles, with which they waxed the floor.
About eight miles from Alexandria is Mount Vernon,
Washington's home. It is a large, picturesque house
with low porches and beautiful trees surrounding it.
It is a delightful ride there on the electric cars. I sup-
pose visitors coming to Alexandria expect to find a beau-
tiful old city with stately old mansions filling it; but if
they expect this they will be disappointed, I think, for it
is a busy, hard-working little town. But of course it
has some beautiful houses, such as the Marshalls' and
Smoot's. On the corner of Washington Street is a mon-
ument erected to the dead Confederates.
Alexandria is situated on the Potomac River, and we
have a fine view of Maryland, and often go over there in
row-boats and sail-boats. At one end of the city there is
a dangerous rocky point, called Jones's Point, which has
a lighthouse on it. Girls and boys often go there fish-
ing and sketching. From your constant reader,
ALICE V. LINDSEY.

JOHNSONVILLE, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I never had much to write
about, but now I have a little.
Father and I get up very early nearly every morning.
On one occasion we went out for a walk, and I saw a
little bird hopping about as if it could not fly. I went
after it and caught it. As we went along, I saw another
bird fluttering about, caught that also, and brought them
bothhome. I hunted up an old bird-cage and put them both
in it. I named them "Dick" and" Belle." They pros-
pered finely for a time, and I took them both out every
day, trying to teach them to fly. The first thing I knew
Dick had flown away to a tree. I kept Belle a little
longer, and one day I was cleaning out her cage and the
cat jumped at her; and that was the end of Belle.
My kitten that caused the death of poor Belle regretted
it five minutes later; for with the help of a shingle my
hand served to quicken her memory not to do so again.
The kitten I named Rosette," because her paws look
like a rosette.
I have taken you for about three years, and could not
do without you. I have a bicycle, and can ride it with
my two brothers on behind me. They each occupy half
of the saddle while I stand up and ride.
Your earnest reader, SARAH S. WILKINSON.

ANGORA STATION, W. PHILADELPHIA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a girl from the Church
Home School. We have about one hundred and eight
children here. Our home is out in the country, and we
are all very glad when spring comes.
In the woods we find hepaticas, spring beauties, par-
tridge berries, and anemones.
In the schoolroom we read the letters at the back of
ST. NICHOLAS and find the city and country they come
from, and have it as a geography lesson. We have
never seen a letter yet from Angora.
Your constant letter reader, KATE JURETICH.

LONDON, ENGLAND.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is the first time I have
written to you. I have taken you for several years, and
like you very much. This winter we have been travel-
ing about Europe. We have been to Spain, Africa,
Italy, France, and now we are in England. Perhaps you

would like to hear of the trip I made with my father
down to the docks.
We went down in the morning, and went into a great
many different warehouses, where the men were packing
up ivory, wine, and different kinds of spices to be sent to
other countries.
The wine warehouse was underground, so we had to
carry little lamps, which were on the end of sticks.
The ivory warehouse was full of elephants' tusks from
Africa and India. One of the tusks was over seven feet
high, and cost over four hundred dollars.
When we came into the spice warehouse we could
hardly breathe on account of the strong smell of the
spices. One of the men showed me the nutmeg in its
different states. When they pick it off the bush it has a
little red skin, which they sell, and people use it in fla-
voring soups. Then the skin is taken off, and there is
a hard black shell; under this is the kernel and this is
the nutmeg. When we had seen the warehouses we
walked a little farther out on the docks, and watched
some ships being unloaded. The men were unloading
cork and bark, which they were taking up into the ware-
houses.
We took lunch at a little mission-house which was for
the sailors. On the walls of this mission-house were
little prayers and sermons for the sailors to read. The
lunch was very good, and consisted of soup, bread, and
milk, and some coffee. The meal cost only five cents.
Your interested reader,
HARRIET GREELEY.

KENOSHA, WIs.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My sister and I are two little
girls visiting at a farm about fifty miles from Chicago,
and it seems as if we had come into a truly Babyland.
There are so many little calves, little pigs, puppies,
lambs, chickens, and turkeys; and to little girls who
have lived nearly all their lives in the city, they seem
very interesting. We wish there were some others of
the ST. NICHOLAS little boys and girls here to enjoy
them with us.
We have taken the ST. NICHOLAS only since Christ-
mas, and we think we could not do without it now.
Truly your little friend, MILDRED WINSLOW.

ALLEGHENY.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You have been a great
friend to me for two years; and if I did not have a copy
of you every month I should miss you very much. For
some time I have been wanting to write you a letter
telling you about my pets-a dog and a canary-bird. I
hardly know which I like better; but I think that I
like my dog. Perhaps it is because I have had her
longer; and then I taught her all the tricks that she knows.
Before I tell you any of her tricks I will tell you how
she came to me.
My uncle, while out West, bought and sent her to me.
She came in a box by express. She was two days on
the road, and on the box was tacked a card, which said:
Please give me a drink of water." I suppose the men
on the train gave her water and food, for she arrived
safely. The first thing that I taught her was to shake
hands. Then I taught her to sit up, "speak," and
jump. Afterward she learned to take off my hat when
I came into the house. But what I enjoy most is dress-
ing her up in a baby's short dress and a little mull hat.
She puts her paws through the sleeves, and I button the
dress down the back; then, when the hat is tied under
her chin, she looks quite comical. She, too, seems to
like it; for if I hold her paws, she will walk all through
the house on her hind legs. Sometimes two or three of
us play "Ring-around-a-rosy "; and when we go down,
"Nelly goes down with us.

965

THE LETTER-BOX.

And now for the bird. We got him just before the
returns of the election, and decided to name him for the
successful candidate. As "McKinley" was too long
and awkward a name for a bird, we thought Major"
would be better. He is very tame for a bird. He will
eat from my hand, and come out of the cage and walk
around my shoulders. If I poke my finger in the cage
he will raise his wings and fly at me, pretending to fight.
I remain, your faithful reader,
RALPH E. MANNHEIMER.

FORT MISSOULA, MONTANA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You have come to our house
for quite a long while, and there never has been another
magazine which we liked better. I like all the stories
that are published; but I think "A Boy of the First
Empire was one of the best. I like all army and navy
stories very much. My father is in the army, so of
course I find all army stories very interesting. In one
of the numbers of ST. NICHOLAS there was an article
entitled What the Bugle Tells on aWar-ship." I found
I knew a great many of the calls.
I shall be very sorry when we have to go away from
here. It is the prettiest little post I ever was at. The
mountains are all around us.
Wishing you a long and prosperous life, I remain your
most interested reader, MARGARET EDWARDS.

TRENTON, N. J.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I would like to tell you about
a little incident which happened on our porch last sum-
mer.
One day I was sitting on the porch for a little fresh
air when a wasp flew unintentionally into the web of a
large spider. The spider came up as usual to bind and
carry off his prey; but the wasp knew better than to al-
low himself to be carried away, so he fought and strug-
gled to get free. Meanwhile the spider tried to spin a
little web around the wasp, and entrap him. They
fought for ten minutes with equal strength, till at last
the wasp reached out his sting, and caught the spider
square in the body. This seemed to make the spider
very tired, for he immediately dropped all claim to the
wasp, and slowly moved to a corner of his web. Mean-
while the wasp struggled, and with some difficulty got
loose from the web, and flew awayin triumph.
I am, yours respectfully, WALDBURG HEWITT.

MERIDEN, CONN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My papa is a newspaper man,
and in consequence our home is literally filled with
magazines and other publications; but I like ST. NICHO-
LAS the best of all. It is always instructive as well as
entertaining; and its illustrations are superb. I wish
every boy and girl in the land could see you each month
in the year.
I wonder if all of your readers are bicycle riders, or
does the wheel fail to follow your circulation to all parts of
the civilized world ? I have been a wheel girl for nearly
a year, and enjoy the exercise very much. Mama thinks
that bicycles interfere too much with school studies and
music. She fears that they may prove detrimental to
some young people on that account.
Some time ago number of scholars in the school which I
attend formed a district branch of the National Society for
the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. While we may

not do much toward preventing others from being cruel,
the organization inculcates the spirit of kindness among
its members, which leads them to think of others.
Your appreciative reader, ISABEL LEE SMITH.

RAWLINS, WYo.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I received the June number
to-day. It was my turn to read it first. You see my
older sister and I take turns in reading it first, I one
month, she another.
Yesterday my brothers caught a gopher; but it got
away this morning. Papa made us the nicest cage for
gophers. One large box is filled with ground for the
gophers to burrow in, and the other has a screen on
the front and a sliding-door at the back.
Last summer we had four of the cutest little gophers.
One of them died from eating something injurious.
Three of them were called Spry," Spy," and -"Sky."
Perhaps you remember I am the little girl who sent you
a story--"Alvon and the Stone Ring"- about two
years ago. I remain, yours, EMMA STUVER.

DODGEVILLE, WIS.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are taking you in our
school, and think you are delightful. Miss Jones, our
teacher, is reading us a story out of you, called Master
Skylark." We all enjoy it.
Now I will tell you about the time when I went pick-
ing flowers. A girl friend of mine and myself started
from home and went out into the woods. We first
started to pick violets, and then to pick some yellow
flowers which grew in marshy places. I spied some
water-cresses and wanted some. There was a stick across
the stream, and I stepped on it to get some, and the
stick broke, and of course you know where I went to.
I was all muddy and wet. My friend took my shoes
and stockings off, and washed them in a clear part of the
stream, and then we went home. I was questioned a
great deal, and I thought I would never go again. I
am going to take you when I can, and I will read every
story in you. I won't finish my letter yet, but will
tell you a little story that I have read. There was
once a little girl named Alice, who dreamed the
queerest things you ever heard of. She dreamed that
she was down in a rabbit-hole, which led to a beau-
tiful hall all lit up and elegantly furnished. There
she saw a little table with a bottle on it; and it said
on the bottle, "Drink me"; so she drank it, and she
began to grow smaller. She feared she would get so
little that there would not be anything left of her. She
went a little further and saw a bottle on another little
table, which said, Drink me." She drank it, and be-
gan to grow larger. She had to stoop in order to walk.
Well, if I told you, dear ST. NICHOLAS, how much
this little Alice dreamed, I would write a whole book
full. From your true friend, ANNIE CHANDLER.

NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
I AM composed of twenty-four letters, and am a say-
ing of John Quincy Adams.
My 10-20-7-17 is a companion. My 21-1-18-15 is
a missile. My 4-16-24-12 is a pronoun. My 3-2-6-
I1-9 is a South American animal. My 5-14-13-22 is an
abode. My 19-6-8-23 is to cripple.
SIGOURNEY FAY NININGER.

ILLUSTRATED DIAGONAL.

.
-7

S .

ALL the words pictured contain the same number of
letters. When rightly guessed and placed one below the
other, in the order numbered, the diagonal (from the

upper left-hand letter to the lower right-hand letter) will
spell the name of a famous French painter.

CONUNDRUM CHARADE.
WHY are feathers like a field?
Myfirst will ready answer yield.
Why is a blacksmith like a ban?
Answer this my second can.

Why is a well-laid carpet
Like to an honest man?
For the answer to this last,
You my whole must scan.

L. E. J.

PROGRESSIVE NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
I. THE old sailor with the lame I-2-3 4-5-6-7 his
days in the almshouse, and tells I-2-3-4-5-6-7 to the
children.
2. In reading Washington's 1-2-3-4-5-6-7 we find that
1-2-3 4-5-6-7 enemies were very bitter.
3. In the fairy tale, the queen lost 1-2-3 4-5-6-7, and
the cook found it in a 1-2-3-4-5-6-7.
4. We put 1-2-3-4-5-6 garments on the line, and let
the 1-2-3 4-5-6 them.
5. I am 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8 that it must have been a
1-2-3-4 5-6-7-8 that the English people called "Long-
shanks."
6. I don't like that 1-2-3-4; 5-6-7 me paint it white;
it is perfectly 1-2-3-4-5 6-7.
7. I 2-3-4-5-6 the ranch around, and bring me the
finest 1-2-3-4-5-6 you can find.
8. The mighty I-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9 who was so 1-2-3-4-5-6,
7-8-9 some poisonous substance, and died. "
9. See the poor sick 1-2-3 4-5-6 the green 1-2-3-4-5-6.
M. E. FLOYD.

968 THE RIDI

NOVEL ACROSTIC.

MY first and fourth rows, reading downward, spell the
name of a popular author.
CROSSWORDS (of equal length): I. With vigorous
growth. 2. Premature. 3. To variegate. 4. A color.
5. To ratify. 6. The handle of a printing-press. 7. A
weapon. "RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI."

RIDDLE.
BY the brooklet blooming sweet;
Flying from some tower or spire;
Leading army, leading fleet,
Through the foeman's hottest fire.
Bringing cars to halt complete;
Helping you across the mire; -
Though with uses I 'm replete,
Yet, whatever I do, I tire. L. E. J.

CURIOUS ZOOLOGICAL CHANGES.

(EXAMPLE: Give a new head to a small dog, and
make an insect. Answer, Pug, bug.)
I. Give a new head to a domestic animal, and make a
sea-fowl.
2. Give a new head to a wild animal, and make a wild
or domestic fowl.
3. Give a new head to a sort of deer, and make an-
other sort of deer.
4. Give a new head to a wild animal, and make a wild
or domestic fowl.
5. Give a new head to a rodent, and make its worst
enemy.
6. Give a new head to a wild animal, and make a beast
of burden.
7. Give a new head to a water animal, and make a
water-fowl.
8. Give a new head to a certain domestic animal, and
make another domestic animal.
9. Give a new head to a rodent, and make a tiny in-
sect found on plants.
Ic. Give a new head to a species of rail, and leave a
domestic fowl. L. E. JOHNSON.

GEOGRAPHICAL PRIMAL ACROSTIC.
(Many lands.)
I. O HOME of the muses! thy temples so fair,
Most lovely in ruin, still rise in the air.
2. Great empire of old! of the earth thou wast queen,
The like of thy glory the world has ne'er seen.-.
3 Enthroned 'mid the deserts for thousands of years,
The tales of thy marvels astonish our ears.
4. Through thy great wilderness, driven by wrong,
Wandered the children of Israel long.
5. The fez and the scimiter, crescent and horn,
Thy emblem, O land by atrocities torn !
6. Deep, vast are thy forests, O country so new !
Thy jewels are brilliant, thy comforts are few.
7. Thy rulers despotic, O land of the north,
Thy rich and thy poor oft to exile send forth.
8. Fair Emerald Isle, where the witty are born,
With struggles twixtt landlord and tenant so torn.
9. From thee, far away from the civilized world,
Have hordes of wild horsemen on Europe been
hurled.
Io. Thee, haunt of the seal, by an Autocrat sold,
A young country bought for a bag full of gold.

3LE-BOX.

11. 'Neath sweet sunny skies, land of art and of song,
In cities of treasures our stay we 'd prolong.
12. Thy fiords and thy glaciers we pass on the way
To where winter is night, and the summer is day.

These primals will spell a great country of earth,
Renowned for her power, possessions, and worth.
FRANCES AMORY.

A CIRCULAR PUZZLE.

EACH of the above pictures may be described by one
word. By beginning at the right picture, the-initial
letters of the nine words will spell the name of an Am-
erican navafofficer. PAUL PAESCHKE.
DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.

I. I. IN quartz. 2. A lyric poem. 3. A town in
the province of Toledo, Spain. 4. A mineral. 5. To
decree. 6. An insect. 7. In quartz.
II. I. In quartz. 2. An insect. 3. The surname
of a general who served in the Waterloo campaign. 4.
A wise Trojan who advised the surrender of Helen. 5.
Purport. 6. A conjunction. 7. In quartz.
M. B. C.
CENTRAL ACROSTIC.
ALL of the words described contain the same number
of letters. When rightly guessed and placed one below
another, the central letters will spell the surname of a
well-known American.
CROSS-WORDS: I. A military officer. 2. A serpent.
3. Young quadrupeds. 4. A part. 5. A soft compo-
sition. 6. A South American ruminant. 7. To go at
an easy gait. 8. Weeds. 9. Approaches. o1. Men-
tions. II. A light carriage. 12. To compose. 13.
Weary. 14. A military firearm. 15. A country of
Asia. 16. A color. 17. A young lady of superior
beauty and attractions. 18. A range of mountains.
ROGER HOYT AND FRED KELSEY.